


Broken Chances

by amethyst_flame



Series: Broken Chances [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 216,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethyst_flame/pseuds/amethyst_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two weeks since Bucky Barnes jumped out of the helicarrier, plunging into the cool depths of the Potomac to pull out the stranger who called him friend. Now, he stands outside a two-story home, a crumpled address held tightly in his hand. He needs a safe place to rest, if only for the night, and she looked nice in the picture. Friendly. </p><p>And, Bucky thinks, he could really use a friend right now, even if it is just for a few hours.</p><p>**No Civil War Spoilers**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thanks for stopping by! 
> 
> This is my first fic on this site. It's my first time working up the courage to post anything, anywhere. It's not beta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own. Unfortunately, the mistakes are about all I own (everyone, with the exception of Amelia, belongs to MARVEL) so please don't sue. 
> 
> The writing style in the beginning is a little scattered. It's meant to be. Bucky starts off the story, and he's not in a great place. You'll see his thoughts start to come together more as the story progresses.

James Buchanan Barnes glances at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. 513 E. River Road, Eddisburg, Pennsylvania. The small town was easy to reach, even if it had taken all night to walk here. It’s still dark, only the streetlights lining the streets providing any light at all as he stood outside the small home. Two stories high with a small attic on top, large bay windows in the front, the exterior painted a dark blue with white trim. There was a front porch. A swing. The only thing missing was the picket fence. 

Not perfect, as far as defensible positions went, but he’s worked with worse.

The only light coming from inside is from a dim bulb in what is likely the main bedroom. The rest of the home is dark. It’s early; the woman inside will still be asleep. Still, he needs somewhere to go. He pulls his bag a little higher on his shoulder, and slips around back. Fewer people to see. He brings up his hand and raps sharply against the wood. It’s cold, the early spring wind beating at him, and he needs to get inside. Needs to get warm. 

He needs rest. 

When there is no response, he knocks again. After another moment, a light flickers to life, shining from the same upstairs window, illuminating part of the small yard. Another minute passes and the porch light above him turns on. He instinctively steps back, hiding in the shadows. It’s a habit that he can’t seem to shake, even if it has been two weeks since he jumped from the helicarrier, crashing into the water to save the man who had called him friend. 

Finally, the door opens. The woman standing on the other side looks like her picture-- long brown hair, brown eyes wide as she looks up at him. She is wearing a thick robe and fuzzy blue slippers. A few inches of red flannel pajama pants stick out the bottom of the robe. His gaze travels back up. He can see the fear on her face, and he fights the urge to take another step back. 

“Can I help you?” He watches as one hand goes into her pocket, and he hears the click as the safety is taken off of her gun. 

He swallows painfully, fear clouding his thoughts. That happens a lot now. He doesn’t think that it used to; the emotion is unfamiliar. Still, the woman is standing there, armed, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. 

“There was a picture. I saw you with him. I need-- I need--” He cuts off, his thoughts skittering away again. 

“What picture?” 

Ah. That he can provide. He reaches into a pocket, slowly when he notices her tense up, and pulls out the page he’d ripped from a magazine. He holds it out with his metal hand, and she looks at it, eyes going wide again. She ignores the paper, but takes a small step towards him. 

“Come into the light,” she invites, removing her hand from her pocket and holding both where he can see them. Surrender? No. Telling him that she means no harm. Hard to tell the difference. Almost everyone surrendered, before. He thinks he likes this better. His heart is pounding. Fear never leaves him now, even though he doesn’t remember what he’s so afraid of. He’s pretty certain that he can handle most physical threats. He shuffles forward, and she gasps. 

“Bucky?” 

He freezes, and the picture falls from numb fingertips. That’s what the Captain called him. His...friend. _Do you know me? Who am I? **What** am I?_ The questions scramble for purchase in his confused mind, but only one makes it out.

“Do you know him?” he asks, gesturing to the fallen paper. She scoops it up, a faint smile on her face when she sees the picture there.

“The night of Tony’s opening gala,” she explains. “He was too shy to ask anyone to dance.” 

The smile softens her face, easing away some of the fear. Bucky shuffles a few inches towards the porch light, his eyes never leaving her face as she stares down at the picture. 

There were 135 articles about Captain Steve Rogers in the DC library. He looked at half of them, scanning the words and images for anything that felt right. There was nothing; only more emptiness where memories should be. This picture was from the coverage of the opening of the new Avengers tower in Manhattan. Steve was standing a bit too close to the woman, as if the shorter, mustached man right behind him had shoved the two together right before the picture was taken. It was easy to read the surprise on both of their faces, but she was smiling, and so was he. 

And that smile. Something inside of him stirred, like a tiny part of his soul starting to wake up again. It wasn’t the same smile Steve showed the reporters or photographers. There was nothing practiced or fake about it. This was the first picture he’d seen where the man looked genuinely happy. 

So, the Asset took a closer look at the woman in his arms, trying to figure out what made her so special. Her name is printed below the image. Amelia Cassidy.

The woman looks up, her gaze questioning. “You found me from this? Why?” 

He just stands there, looking down. His hand is still shaking, so he tightens it into a fist at his side. “The Captain. He-- I’m--” He looks up, eyes flickering up to meet hers before flinching away again. A moment passes, and she steps back, holding the door open. 

“You should come in. Are you hungry?”

*** 

Five minutes later, he's sitting at a table, a bowl of something that looked and smelled familiar sitting before him. Beef stew, she'd called it. It was good. Better than the nutrition packets he got at HYDRA. A glass of milk was positioned to the side of the bowl. His. This is an important distinction; he remembers the last time, when the offer of milk didn’t mean anything. The woman sits across from him, trying to watch him without being noticed. 

When he first entered her home, she led him straight to the kitchen and directed him to sit at the small center island, as she started rummaging around through the fridge, seemingly unconcerned with the assassin sitting at her back. She pulled out a large bowl, popped it into the microwave, and poured a glass of milk, sliding it over to him. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes focused on the pattern in the grain of the wooden island countertop. The microwave beeps, and he tries not to jump. Moments later, there is a bowl of hot food before him, and he finally looks up. 

She is quiet until the bowl is almost gone, and he has adjusted to her curious gaze. “Steve thinks you left the country,” she says at last. “When he woke up in the hospital, he told me what happened. He said that you saved him.”

He looks up, and then his gaze moves beyond her, to something outside her window. “He was drowning. I pulled him out.”

“And then you went into hiding?”

“Can’t let them find me. I can’t go back.” His heart starts pounding, and bile rises in his throat. Fear. The woman notices, reaches out, sets a soft hand over his. Her fingers curl around his, and he freezes, every sense focused on the sensation of skin on skin. It grounds him, pulling him back to the now. She is not hurting him, nor trying to defend herself, so the touch is unexpected. Unfamiliar. 

Nice. 

Slowly, his eyes watching her for any reaction, he turns his hand over, until their palms are flush against each other. She meets his gaze, and he doesn’t see fear. 

He jerks his hand away, and turns his attention back to the food before him, hearing her sigh. A moment later, she speaks again. 

“What should I call you? James? Bucky? Sergeant Barnes? Do you have a preference?”

“They called me the Asset.” 

“No, I mean your name.” 

He stares at the cubes of beef, as if they might procure the answer she’s looking for. They don’t. “They just called me the Asset. Or the soldier.” He is a tool, a weapon. Weapons don’t have names. Except, that isn’t _quite_ right; he has a faint memory of a sniper rifle called Tina, can almost remember the feel of her in his hands. 

“Do you remember anything from your life before?” 

Flashes come to him. A scrawny kid. A war. A fall. “No,” he says. “Only… The Captain. Steve. He said that we were friends.” _End of the line_. 

Amelia smiles again, but it’s sadder this time. “I can call him. He’ll be here before the sun rises.” 

This scares him more than anything, not that he understands why. “No!” She jumps, and he quiets his voice. “Please. Not yet.” 

“Can I at least let him know that you’re okay?”

“No.” Because he’s not. Not okay at all. That much, at least, he knows. 

“Do you want me to tell you what he’s told me? What he's said about you? I can, if that might help."

He glances up then, his eyes feeling wet. “There was a sign, with a man that looked like me. James Barnes. But he died.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. They thought you died. You fell from a train, dropping to the bottom of a ravine. They don’t know how you survived. Steve thinks that it might have something to do with the experiments they did when HYDRA first captured you.” 

_The fall._ The terrible fall that haunts his nightmares. It really happened. 'Grab my hand!' He still wakes up screaming, haunted by a pair of blue eyes and a hand reaching for his.

“Do you want more?” Amelia asks, gesturing to his bowl. He nods, so she takes it, refills it, and then hands it back. She sits back down when she is finished, giving him a faint smile. 

He sits back, watching her. This tiny slip of a woman sitting across from him. Standing, her forehead would scarcely meet his chin. Men twice her size have cowered before him. But she reaches out. Provides food. A warm home where he feels, if not completely at ease, then at least not unwanted. A bit less like a loaded machine gun that no one could trust at their backs. 

He finishes the second bowl in silence. As soon as he is done, she sets the bowl and cup in the sink, and gives him an assessing look.

“You must be exhausted. I’ll go make up the guest room, and pull some stuff together for a shower. I don’t think I have any clothes that’ll fit, but I can wash what you have on, and it’ll be ready once you wake up.”

He nods, watching her go. She turns back at the last moment. “Um, stupid question probably, but are you, uh, waterproof?” she asks, gesturing vaguely towards his cybernetic arm. 

“Yes.” 

She thinks for a moment, nods. “Good.” There’s a pause. “I’m really glad that you’re here, Bucky,” she says, and then continues on her way. 

He blinks, and tries to ignore the tightness in his chest. She’s a good person, he realizes. He should leave now, while she is out of the room. Run as fast and as far as he can. Nothing good will come of him being here. He’ll end up hurt, or she will. The cost for inviting him into her life. But, as much as he tries to stand and walk for the door, his legs refuse to do his bidding. As scary as staying is, he is not ready to go back into the cold. Just one night, he tells himself. Long enough to sleep, to recharge. Just enough rest to see him out of the country. He’ll leave first thing tomorrow, if fate will give him just this one chance at peace tonight.

A short time later, Amelia returns. “You’re all set. Do you want me to show you up?”


	2. Early Days with a Psychotic Trucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you. 105 views, 9 kudos, and a comment (Thanks, Amanda!), all on the first chapter. You're all awesome, and you absolutely made my week. 
> 
> I have more than 75% of this story written. I'm trying to work out a posting schedule, but for right now, you can expect a new chapter every few days. We're about to head into the good stuff, including our first chapter with Tony. 
> 
> As always, only the mistakes (and Amelia) are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

The bedroom is decorated in soft greens, and the bathroom matches it. Bucky showers, dries himself with quick, rough strokes, and goes back to the bedroom, the towel tied tight around his waist. The dirty clothes he’d left outside the door are gone, and for a moment he panics. Clothes are needed to escape. He remembers that; a naked man with a metal arm would get noticed.

The room is warm and clean, and he is warm and clean, for the first time in what feels like forever. The sky is starting to lighten, and his eyes are growing heavy. Almost four days since he last slept, and the bed is inviting. He slips beneath the covers, and is asleep nearly as soon as he closes his eyes. 

****

Amelia piles the dirty clothes into the washer. They reek, and she can tell it had been a while since his last shower. Or shave. Or haircut. Steve’s ex-dead friend had looked like a psychotic trucker, standing on her back patio. 

Somehow, she doesn’t think that he’d appreciate the comparison. 

Even after everything Steve had told her of James Buchanan Barnes, the reality was nothing like she expected. The man now sleeping in her guest room seemed to have a tenuous grip on reality, at best. She wants nothing more than to call Steve, to let him know that Bucky was alive and safe, to promise that she would look after him for as long as he would allow. She’d been at the hospital when the agent came in to tell Steve that there was no sign of the Winter Soldier. The official story was that the HYDRA assassin died in the wreckage, and that Steve had washed to shore when the final helicarrier hit the water, the resulting wave strong enough to push him towards safety.

Steve knew better. He’d started his search a week ago, determined to bring home the friend he’d lost more than seventy years ago. And Amelia just had one hell of a break-through in the hunt.

But Bucky had asked for her discretion, so she would give him the time he needed. And if he needed a quiet place to get himself back together, well, she would give him that, too. Eddisburg was a small town, more than two hours from the hustle and bustle of the Capital. She’d moved here from Manhattan almost five years ago, frantically seeking an escape from the sounds and memories of the city. A last-ditch attempt to start over. 

Desperation is something she understands. Really, there was no option other than to invite Bucky into her home. Someone had done the same for her once, and she owes this kindness to the universe as much as she owes it to Steve. 

So she washes Bucky’s clothes, and orders him some more online. She tidies up her home, taking care of the clutter that she never notices until company shows up, and then she grabs her purse, a pad of paper, and a pen, scribbling a quick note before she runs out to grab some more supplies. She comes home two hours later with groceries, and few pairs of boxers, and a few bags of personal care products and other supplies. She also picks up a couple of pizzas for lunch. 

As soon as everything is put away, she slips up the stairs, Bucky’s clean laundry tucked under one arm. It’s going on 11:30, and while she has no intention of waking him, she also wants to make sure he can find his clothes when he does get up. 

She pauses outside the door and listens. There is no noise, so she knocks lightly and then opens the door just enough to go inside. 

Bucky lays on his side, the blankets caught around his waist and his flesh-and-bone hand curled into the pillow by his face. Amelia moves closer, finally getting her first real look at him in the light coming through the windows. Sleeping, he looks younger, and she sees her first hint of the man Steve is fighting to save. There’s something vulnerable there, even after seventy years of hell, and something else, some hidden strength that not even HYDRA could destroy. 

The rest of his body tells a different story. Scars cover the space where his metal arm meets his shoulder, with a few more scars tracing along his back. He is muscular, but too thin, like he hadn’t eaten well in the weeks he’d spent free from HYDRA, and was likely under-fed during his time under their control. Her heart breaks. How many horrors had he witnessed in his time with them? How much had he suffered?

As if to answer her question, Bucky mumbles in his sleep, his hand tightening on the pillow. A pained expression flickers across his face. His breath comes in and out in sharp pants, and he curls inwards, protecting himself from harm.

“Bucky?” She calls softly. When there is no response, Amelia takes another small step forward. She knows well enough not to touch him, but she’d be damned if he suffered through this alone. She calls his name again, louder this time. “Bucky, it’s just a dream. Wake up.” 

He shoots up in the bed, wide eyes wet, his chest heaving. Amelia doesn’t move, afraid to startle him. After a moment, his gaze turns to her, the expression falling off his face. For a chilling second, she sees exactly what his opponents have faced for decades. He is every bit the Winter Soldier, and it's terrifying. He slides from the bed, and she takes several steps back, stopping when her back hits the wall. 

“Bucky? It’s Amelia.” Her hands grasp instinctively for purchase along the wall, desperate to either escape or get through to him. “You’re in my home. You’re safe. You won’t ever have to go back to them. You’re okay.” 

He stops just inches away, eyes dark and unreadable as he stares at her. His lips set into a thin line and his metal hand slips over her neck, slowly tightening as he lifts her against the wall. The metal scrapes against her skin as she swallows. Amelia fights the impulse to resist; it wouldn’t do her any good. She has no defense against him anyhow, and how many times have his victims struggled? It’s exactly what he’s expecting. If she wants to survive, she has one chance. Instead of fighting against him, she brings a hand up to the soldier’s face, gently setting it along his cheek. “Bucky, you’re safe,” she whispers. Even that is a struggle, taking the last of her breath. Her arm feels heavy, and her vision is starting to darken, but as her thumb moves across his cheek, Bucky stops tightening his hand. A glimmer of confusion flashes in his eyes. Confusion gives way to horror. He drops her, scurrying away as quickly as his legs can carry him. Amelia slips to the floor, her back still pressed to the wall, as she sucks air back into her lungs. Her neck hurts, bruised, and scraped raw and bloody where the joints of his fingers caught against her skin. She barely notices when Bucky slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Amelia stays on the floor, breathing deeply to push back the panic. Tears threaten to fall, and she blinks them back. It was one thing to read the files. Another thing altogether to stare into the face of the Winter Soldier, and see her death in his eyes. She is in over her head. This is a horrible idea. She should be on the phone with Steve right now, telling him to come get his friend. Trying to do this alone is going to get her killed. 

The soft sound of movement in the bathroom catches her attention. Bucky. The look of horror in his eyes comes back to her, and she curses under her breath. She can panic later; he’s still in her home, still her responsibility, and she thinks that he is probably even more scared than she is. Amelia pushes to her feet, crossing the room on trembling legs, grabbing a clean pair boxers and a blanket from the bed along the way. 

She knocks lightly against the wooden door. “Bucky? It’s Amelia. Can I come in?” Her throat burns, the bruises and subsequent swelling making it hard to talk.

When there is no response, she turns the handle and slowly opens the door. The sight awaiting her makes her blood run cold, and then burn fire hot. The fiercest weapon HYDRA ever created is sitting in the bathtub, hands tucked around his knees and his face pressed against his arms, shaking. 

Amelia is not a violent person. She’s a natural peacekeeper, the first to step in and dissolve a tense situation. But right now, she’d gladly take on every last HYDRA agent on the planet if it meant never seeing him hurt like this again.

“Bucky, it’s okay. I’m alright. I’m fine.” She hears the desperation in her voice, willing to say anything to abate his suffering. When he doesn’t respond, Amelia kneels beside the tub, cautiously draping the blanket around him. He grabs the corners, white-knuckled, and pulls them in tight. 

"Bucky, I need you to look at me. Let me know that you’re still with me here." 

He slowly lifts his head. Tears stain his cheeks, and she wants to break something. "I-- I didn’t--" 

"No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have approached you until I knew you were out of the dream. I just--you looked so miserable, I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry." 

He doesn't respond, but he isn’t hiding his face against his arms anymore, either. It’s a small win, but she’ll take it. A moment passes, and his gaze lands on the boxers still held in her hands. She blushes, and hands them over, turning her head as he puts them on. His hands are still shaking as he pulls the blanket back up afterward.

She reaches out, then stills. "Can I touch you?"

He looks back to her, startled, but he doesn’t say no, so she reaches out, gently tucking the long strands of his hair behind an ear. He stares at her neck, and she can feel his gaze on the angry red marks there. He swallows hard, looks away. 

"Bucky." He doesn't respond. Amelia touches his face, her thumb tracing along his cheekbone. "Bucky, look at me." 

***

Bucky fights the urge to turn his face in towards her touch, wrestling between needing the contact and maintaining his distance. He’s already hurt her once; she shouldn’t be in here with him. But, yet, here she is, her voice soft as she asks him to look at her. It's a request, not a demand. He can refuse, her voice says. He has a choice. Bucky is unused to choices, so he turns and unsteadily meets her anxious stare.

"It wasn't your fault. I'm okay," she insists. 

His gaze flickers. He doesn't believe her. Can't. The marks on her neck say differently. They say that he should have left last night, should have never come here. Should have never endangered her. The marks stare, accusingly, and he looks away, his gaze shifting back to her face. She calmly returns the look, and then she reaches behind her, fumbling through the cabinet beneath the sink. When she brings her hand back around, there is a small red pouch in it. She sets it down on the side of the tub, and then removes her hand from his face. He bites down against the small sound of protest, watching curiously as she opens the pouch, pulling out a tube of ointment and a box of bandages. The rest pack is set on the floor, but the bandages and tube of ointment stay. Amelia pulls her hair back and secures it with an elastic, and then lets her hands rest at her side. 

"Will you please help? It's an odd angle for me." It's a lie and they both know it, but he appreciates the gesture anyhow. She is giving him the chance to fix this, to make it right. She is giving him trust, letting the hands that had tried to break her touch her again, in the same too-vulnerable place. He could snap the fragile bones in her neck, so quickly she wouldn’t feel a thing, and yet, there she was, her chin tilted upward to give him better access. 

He fumbles a bit with the bandages, laying them out before him before he begins. Then, he retrieves a cloth and soaks it in cold water. Twists it dry. Adds a bit more water, then awkwardly sets it on the side of the tub besides his other supplies. She is now sitting on the toilet seat, still relaxed, and still within an easy reach. He holds the cloth in his good hand, but can’t manage to make himself bring it up to her throat. All he can see is the look of terror in her eyes as she fought to get through to him, and the way his metal hand looked against her skin. 

After a moment, Amelia reaches out, pulling the cloth away from his hand. Shame flushes red-hot along his neck. He just… Gentle was unfamiliar. He didn’t fix things. He broke them. Tore flesh and rendered bones useless. He didn’t know how to heal. Only destroy. 

But then, soft hands take his. He looks up, startled. Amelia holds both of his hands in hers, meeting his eyes before setting their joined fingers against her neck. She squeezed his hands once and then let her hands fall away. 

Bucky stares at his hands against the injured flesh of her neck. One real hand. One weapon designed to look like a hand. He can feel her pulse beneath his fingers. He can feel every small bone and fragile piece of cartilage.

He’s shaking again, he realizes, or maybe he just never stopped. Fear and confusion crowd out all thoughts except one. “Why?”

She waits until he meets her eyes again. “Do you want to hurt me?” she asks.

He thinks of the way his hand felt against her neck, waking up to see her dying at his touch. He shakes his head, almost violently. “No.”

“I trust you.” 

He drops his head, mind frantically trying to process. Nothing makes sense. How does she not realize the risk she is taking? He wants to help her, but he also wants to scream at her for having no sense of self-preservation. _(And if that impulse feels vaguely familiar, he ignores it.)_ Finally, he finds a way to look up, seeing nothing but patience in her eyes. He stands, wets the cloth one last time, and then gently-- so very, very gently-- begins to soothe away the bruising and broken skin. She winces when he hits a painful spot, but otherwise keeps her eyes closed, her face relaxed.

One bandage gets stuck on his metal hand. Amelia opens her eyes at his curse, laughing when she sees the strip hanging, half twisted, from his finger. Her laugh isn’t as light and airy as he’d anticipated, but it’s nice, and it catches him by surprise. 

She reaches forward, clasping his metal hand in her own, and then uses her other hand to peel the bandage away. Her eyes are still laughing as she throws it into the small garbage can beside the toilet. He tries again, and this time gets the bandages in place without further incident. He disposes of the wrappers, and then holds out his good hand, helping her up. She smiles. “I’m feeling much better already. Come on, our pizza is growing cold.” 

There is still fear, he realizes. He knows that it is only a matter of time before she finally sees him as the danger he is, sees him for the weapon and not the man, and calls someone to collect him. He hurt her today, and he saw fear in her eyes. She should call for the Avengers. Or he should leave. Get as far away from here as possible. HYDRA was looking for him, and he would not let them near her. If he left, she would be safe, from him and from them. It’d be the right thing to do. The honorable thing. 

But the Winter Soldier hadn’t been good or honorable in a long time. And she looked at him like he was more than a weapon. More than the Asset. Her perception didn’t fit with his understanding of the world. It was confusing. And terrifying-- what would happen when she was gone from his life? Would he go back to being no more than a tool? If no one looked at you like you mattered, like you were a real person, did that mean that you ceased to be one?

Amelia grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard, and hands him one, gesturing towards the pizza and inviting him to help himself. As he does, she pours them each a drink and gets her own dinner. He follows her through the far doorway, finding himself in a small living room. Outside of a desk with a computer on it, there is only a couch, coffee table, and a television screwed into the wall, with a small cabinet of electronics beneath it. Sparse. He gets the feeling that she doesn’t get many guests. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I just thought we could both benefit from something low key. Netflix okay?” 

He takes a seat on the far side of the couch, and gives her a glance. Netflix? She shakes her head. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know that one yet. It’s movies and tv programs. Thousands of them. We can watch whatever you’d like.” She turns on the TV, and then hands him the remote. He fumbles through for a while, hoping to see something that looks right. There is page after page of options, an overwhelming number of options. His grip on the small plastic box tightens, until Amelia gives him a concerned look. 

“It must be a lot to take in. Do you want to try something that you might remember from before?”

He can’t remember _anything_ from before. Somehow, he doesn’t think that a movie will prove to be the exception, but he hands the remote back to her, and within a minute, she pulls up a list of animated movies.

“Disney is probably a safe choice,” she explains. “And these are some of their older titles. Your choice.” 

None of them look familiar. He pushes the down arrow, studying the pictures, and finally settles one that depicts a young boy pulling a sword from a large rock. 

“One of my favorites,” Amelia says with a smile, as she settles back against the cushions to enjoy her food. The movie begins, and he tries to keep his focus on the television, but after several moments, he looks up to see her staring at him. He lifts an eyebrow, questioning. 

“That can’t be comfortable,” she says, by way of explanation.

He blinks, confused. Comfort isn’t a need he’s had to address in a long time. Amelia seems to understand, taking her hand, setting it in the center of his chest, and then pushing until his is leaning back into the cushions. 

“Relax, Bucky. No one is here to order you about, and you’re too tense for watching cartoons. Sit back and eat your pizza.” 

He shuffles a bit, finding a more comfortable position, and his attention goes back to the movie. 

***

It is, he later admits to himself, not an unpleasant way to spend the day. They watch a couple more movies after the first one, and at some point she swaps the pizzas for popcorn. After they finish watching Dumbo (this one, he is surprised to find, is familiar), she wanders out to the kitchen to start making their dinner. He sits down at the center island as she cuts vegetables, content to watch her work in silence. After a day of relaxing, he finds that the frantic race of his brain has slowed to a more manageable speed. He has complete thoughts now, and they come easier, even if he does still feel confused and shaky. 

Amelia eventually gets dinner into the oven and then leaves the room, coming back with a large backpack. It’s dark green with thick, sturdy straps, and looks nearly full. She holds it out towards him. “I almost forgot. This is for you.” 

He warily accepts it, setting it on one of the kitchen stools and undoing the first zipper. Inside, he find bottles of shampoo, body wash, razors, lotion, and other personal care items. He opens a second zipper, finding a package of socks, several pairs of boxers, and a few t-shirts. The smallest pocket holds a pack of pens, a book of crosswords, and a small first-aid kit. There is also a bottle of vitamins and a selection of chocolate bars. He looks back to her, and she looks vaguely uncomfortable. 

“What is this?” he asks. Is she asking him to leave? Even though he’d resolved to do just that, the thought that she might want him to go feels like a kick to the ribs. He struggles to keep his breath even and his expression blank as he seeks her gaze. 

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like, Bucky, but if you decide to go, I want to make sure that you’re taken care of.” 

He thinks this might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him. “Thank you.” 

“If you wait a few days, I ordered you a few outfits, too. If you aren’t staying, just let me know where to send them.”

“Is it-- Is it okay if I stay?” 

“Of course. I’d like it if you would.”

“Why?”

“Because I spend a lot of time alone here, Bucky. It’s nice to not have to cook for just myself.” 

He considers this for a moment. “You have questions.” 

“Quite a few. But I can keep them to myself. If you ever feel like talking, I’m here to listen. And nothing you say will go beyond me.” 

He nods. Considers. “Thank you,” he says again. It feels inadequate. She just smiles and starts washing dishes. 

“There are books in the living room, or you can just look around and find something to entertain yourself for a while. Feel free to explore.” 

He wanders back through the living room, glancing at the books before heading off to explore the rest of the house. In no time at all, he is back up in his room, a pilfered tablet in his hands. He has research to do.

***

When she comes down the next morning, Amelia has her phone in hand, busily sliding her fingers around the screen. He glances over. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Steve.” He tenses, and she looks up. “Not about you. He’s on his way back from a mission, and is just checking in, letting me know that everyone is still breathing.” 

He stands, following her to the kitchen, trying to ignore the uncomfortable jolt in his heart at the thought of Steve facing danger without him. “A mission?” 

Amelia shrugged. “Something in the upper reaches of Scotland. A bunch of kids came across some ancient artifact, and were causing trouble. I didn’t get the details, just a bunch of complaints about how parents are raising their children these days.”

"Steve's okay?" 

She smiled a bit at the concern in his voice. "Safe and sound. Not a scratch on any of them. Apparently, the kids gave in pretty quickly once ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ landed in their backyard” Amelia sets the phone down on the counter, and opens the fridge. “What would you like for breakfast? I can put together an omelet, and I think there’s bacon hiding in the freezer somewhere.”

As she starts cooking, Bucky goes back to his borrowed tablet, searching for any possible footage, desperate to see for himself that the mission went well. And if Amelia gets a strange little smile on her face when she looks over and sees what he’s searching for, he pretends he doesn’t notice it.


	3. We're Starting to Find Our Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I planned on posting over the weekend, but work and family responsibilities got in the way. While the story is mostly written, there are gaps, and this chapter was one of them. By the time I finished it, it was 7,000+ words, so I'm posting the first half tonight and the second half on Friday.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read, bookmarked, left kudos, or commented on the first two chapters. Each and every one means more than you could imagine. Keep them coming, please!
> 
> As always, only the mistakes (and Amelia) are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

“So, how do we do this?” 

Bucky looks up. Amelia is leaning against the center island, elbows on the counter top, rubbing absently at an invisible mark on the wood. 

“I don’t understand,” he replies. Still, he is glad she’s talking. After making breakfast, she’d fallen silent, picking at her food and occasionally giving him distracted glances. He waited, watching closely, as she worked through whatever was circling through her thoughts.

“This. Us. Roommates, I guess, for lack of better phrase. This is...new for me.” 

He blinks, and waits for her to continue. Finally, she looked back up, still nervously running her fingers over the counter. “I mean, we don’t need to figure it out right away. You should take some time to rest, or whatever. Heal. But I’ve never tried to share my space before. Or had to write a joint grocery list. I don’t even know what you like. I don’t even know if _you_ know what you like. Do you? I need to go out for stuff this afternoon. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up?” 

He shrugs. “Food is food.” And then he gives her a closer look. She’s...jittery, for lack of a better word. “Status?” 

It’s her turn to blink, but it’s enough to snap her out of whatever is still running through her head. “What?” 

“Status report.” She doesn’t respond, still looking at him with a blank expression. He tries again. “You’re...not you.” 

Her shoulders slump, and she rubs her hands along her face. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just… I don’t want to mess this up. Ignore me.” 

He considers this. Bucky’s pretty sure that she can’t possibly do anything worse than he’s faced before, but he thinks that maybe saying that won’t help. He decides to address the other problem instead. “I think I like pie.” That might not be entirely true, he concedes, but there was pie in one of the movies they’d watched the day before and it didn’t look too bad. Fruit, pastry, and cream. That sounds agreeable enough. 

She snorts and drops her head onto her arms. That isn’t the reaction he was hoping for, actually. He reaches over, and cautiously taps her on the arm. “Status?” 

She peers out at him, tilting her head just enough to meet his gaze. “I’m fine. I promise. Seriously, though, I do need to figure out a grocery list. I usually get groceries on Fridays, but we were a bit busy yesterday, so I have to get out there today. What do you like?”

“I don’t remember.” 

He watches as a small muscle twitches along her jaw. “Alright. Then we’ll figure it out together.” She stands up, and leaves the room, coming back moments later with a handful of grocery ads, a notebook, and a pen. “I have to go through these anyhow, and make a list. If you see anything that you’d like, point it out and I’ll add it, okay?” 

“I--” He can’t remember the last time that he was allowed to want something, or the last time he had any say in what he could eat, with the exception of the last few meals here, but even then, it’s been Amelia picking the food, and him eating what she provides. He glances down at the pages, with their bold colors and pictures of more food choices than he could have even imagined before, and it’s too much. He turns his gaze away. “I’ll eat whatever you make.” 

He hears the sound of bare feet on the kitchen tile, and can smell her shampoo. He has a moment’s warning, then, before she softly sets her hand on his arm. He is wearing a sweatshirt, trying to make his metal arm less noticeable, but he can feel the heat of her palm even through the thick material. 

“Bucky?” 

He tenses. She moves around until she is in his line of sight, her hand never leaving him. After a moment, her other hand comes up, settling against his cheek and gently tilting his face down to her. He reluctantly meets her gaze. 

“That’s not how this works,” she says. “You have a choice. I want to make sure that there is food here that you like, that you chose, even if you can only find a few things that look good right now. It’ll be a place to start.” 

“That I...chose. That I want?” He needs to be clear on this, needs to know that he’s not doing it wrong, that there won’t be a punishment for making the wrong call.

“Yes. What you want. Whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want. My choice.” 

Her smile is as blinding as it is broken. She nods. “Yeah.” 

He nods, and steps away. She lets him go, returning to the counter and the waiting ads. He sits at her side, an arm’s length away, and she spreads the papers out between them, and scribbles “Groceries” on the top line of the notebook page. She adds Greek yogurt and small cartons of ice cream labeled ‘Ben and Jerry’s. _(Food of the gods, Bucky. Literally. Thor is obsessed with the Chunky Monkey flavor.)_ He hesitantly points to a roasting chicken and some fruit. At her encouragement, he adds a 12-pack of Coke, and then he glances over her shoulder at the store’s bakery section. 

“Those. Can we get those?” He points.

“Chocolate chip cookies?” 

“Yes.” 

Amelia laughs. “Why, Bucky Barnes, you have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she teases. “Do you want me to buy these, or would you like to help me make some? They’re better when you make them at home.” 

He feels an echo of a memory. A woman with a pink apron is standing at a table, a large bowl before her and a wooden spoon in her hands. _‘Jamie, the next time I see your fingers in the batter…’_ The words are scolding, but the voice holds laughter. He blinks, and tries to hold to the memory. “I think...yes. Can we?”

***

Amelia drops the butter and sugar into her stand mixer, then turns it on. “We need the eggs next,” she says, as she reaches for the flour and baking soda. It didn’t take long to get groceries, and Bucky was waiting when she got back, eager to get started on the cookies. She set butter out on the counter before she left, so as soon as she finished taking care of everything, they were able to get started. 

The baking soda is nearly beyond her reach, so she has to stretch up onto her toes to grab it. When she turns around, Bucky is standing there, a wooden spoon in hand. 

“We need this. I saw a woman. I’m not supposed to eat the batter.” 

Amelia sets the flour down on the counter, not taking her gaze off the man standing before her. He looks so unsure, his face pensive, and his hand gripping the wooden spoon a bit too tightly. “You remembered something.” 

He nods. 

“Alright. Well, let’s do it that way, then.” She turns off the mixer, unattaches the bowl, and hands it to Bucky. He walks to the island, sticks the spoon into the batter, and then goes to get the eggs from the fridge. Amelia watches him, her head spinning, a million thoughts screaming in her head. He was remembering. Maybe not the big things, but she’s willing to bet that the woman with the wooden spoon was his mom, even if he didn’t realize it yet. She’s trying not to make a big deal of it, but this is a huge step in his recovery, and the fact that he was comfortable enough with her to mention it, to suggest using the spoon, is humbling. She wants to hug him. She settles for measuring out two cups of flour and dumping it into a smaller bowl. The baking soda and salt follow, and she whisks them together before setting the bowl aside to hunt down the rest of the ingredients. In only a few minutes, her and Bucky had a large bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough, ready to go into the oven. They both start scooping it onto cookie trays, until they have two trays in the oven, and a third waiting to go in. 

There is still a half cup of dough in the bottom of the bowl; not enough to dirty another sheet tray for, but too much to rinse down the sink. She reaches into a drawer and pulls out two spoons, sliding one across the island to Bucky. He catches it, and looks up at her. She just grins, and sticks her spoon into the dough, claiming a small bite of it and popping the spoon into her mouth. 

Bucky frowns, and gives the bowl a doubtful stare. “We’re not supposed to. She said so.” 

Amelia pulls the spoon back out of her mouth. “Nope, you’re definitely allowed. Whoever makes the cookies makes the rules. But if you don’t want any…” she says in a sing-song voice, her spoon scooping back into the dough. He frowns, but reaches his spoon into the bowl, scraping a small bit of dough and chocolate onto his spoon and slowly bringing it to his mouth. Amelia bites back a laugh as his eyes go round, and he reaches for a second scoop. 

“Good, right?” He nods, and she slides the bowl closer to him. “It’s yours. Here, finish it up.” 

***  
The clock beside his bed reads 1:04. He can’t sleep. Fractured thoughts are chasing around his brain, half memories and nightmares. Things that can’t possibly be true. He gets up, and makes his way out into the hallway. The light is on, and he notices that Amelia’s door is still open a few inches. A faint light glows inside her room, probably from a small lamp, but he hears nothing that suggests that she’s still awake. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, helping himself to a plate of leftovers before returning to the living room. The TV is easy, and he pulls up Netflix. 

When the sun comes up, he is into his fifth hour of documentaries. Amelia comes down, freshly showered and smelling like flowers, and stops just inside the entryway. She observes him a moment, and then makes her way over. 

“You didn’t sleep.” 

His eyes are blurry. “Can’t.” 

She sits down beside him, her face concerned. “How long has it been?” 

“The night I came here.” 

“That was only for a few hours.”  
He shrugs. 

“Nightmares?” 

“Or memories. I’m not sure.” 

“Do you want to talk about it? I might be able to help you sort some of it out.” 

“I-- I can’t.” He is shaking again, he realizes. 

“That’s alright.” She reaches out, and takes his hand, fingers warm as they wrap around his. “Is this okay?”

He nods, and she runs her thumb over the back of his hand. The touch is comforting, and his thoughts narrow, until the only thing he can concentrate on is the feel of her skin on his. 

“It’ll get better.” Her voice is soft, unsure, but kind. “It’s going to take time, but it won’t always be like this. It won’t always be this bad.” 

The words hit him hard. They are words of hope; why do they hurt? He lets out a half sob. She moves closer, just an inch or two, before she pauses again. Giving him time to adjust to her presence, his fractured mind provides. Not unlike she’d do with a wild animal. Or maybe a stray dog. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can listen, and I can be here when you need me to be.” 

He stares at her. “I-- I don’t--” A flash of memory comes to him. A family. A mother and father. Three small children. His target is in the sports car behind them. Failure isn’t an option. He aims his gun at the engine, and fires. The van explodes. The target swerves, putting himself in the Soldier’s line of sight. Thirty seconds later, the mission is complete. He walks away. 

Another flash. The young blond boy, sitting on the grass, struggling to breathe. Bucky is terrified for the first time in his life. He sees his own hands reaching out, supporting him as the boy gasps for oxygen. The boy’s hand comes to rest against his chest. “That’s it, Stevie. Follow my breaths. Just like your ma said.” 

His memories shift again, until he is sitting along the ledge of a large gray building. There is a sniper rifle in his hands, the case propped near his feet. The sight is focused on a young woman, a scientist with the knowledge to change the world. She sits on a picnic blanket beside a young man, their bodies entwined. Even the asset can recognize love, even if he has no remembered experience of it. The shot is clean. The man screams, holding the remains of his bride-to-be in his arms, as the Hydra assassin packs up and returns to base. 

The next memory feels more recent. He is surrounded by men with guns. There is pain, blows raining down on his face and torso. He’s trapped, unable to escape as the pain continues. “Stupid! Failure is not allowed! You are worthless!” The accented voice is angry, and the words sound familiar. _Worthless. A useless relic. Nothing more than a tool. We can replace you. We can make a better weapon, and then you’re going to the scrap heap._ The names and faces have faded, but the words remain. 

Except, now he knows the truth. He is worse than worthless. He is a monster. 

“Bucky? Bucky, come back to me.” 

He is aware of a voice--kind--and a touch on his hand. He blinks. “Where--”

“Hey, welcome back. You had me worried.” 

He blinks again, and recognizes the woman before him, even though he can’t recall her name. The home is familiar. Who is the she? A target? Another agent? He looks around, looking for a clue. Why is he here? His heart rate speeds up. He takes a breath, and pushes the panic away.

“Where am I?” he asks. “What is my mission?”

The woman looks concerned. “Bucky, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

Bucky. It sounds familiar. Was that his name? He feels a touch on his hand again, and looks down. The woman is holding his hand, but he doesn’t feel threatened. He looks up at her, feeling very lost and suddenly afraid. 

“I don’t remember. Where am I?” 

“We’re in a small town about two hours outside of DC. You arrived here a late last week, looking for a safe place to stay. You escaped HYDRA a few weeks ago.”

He studies her, and decides that she is telling the truth. “I know you?” 

“My name is Amelia Cassidy. And we don’t know each other very well yet, but we’re getting there.” 

“Amelia?” Her name sounds familiar. Pleasant. She reaches up, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes drift closed of their own accord, and he is suddenly exhausted.

“Come here, Bucky. You’re okay now.” 

He opens his eyes again, taking another look around. No equipment. No guards. No chair. There is nothing familiar, and he isn’t sure what to think. “Am I safe?” 

Tears form in the woman’s eyes. He doesn’t understand. He sees no sign of injury, and she doesn’t seem afraid of him. Instead, she gives him a watery smile. “Yeah, Bucky. You’re safe. You’ll always be safe with me.” She guides him down, and he follows her lead, setting his head down onto her lap and stretching out across the couch. She rubs his back with one hand, her other still holding his remaining hand. He knows he should question this, but he feels protected. Cared for. And that’s never happened before. _No,_ that’s not quite right _(I thought you were dead..)_ , but the memory is gone before he can grasp it. His eyes close, and he drifts away. 

*** 

Amelia runs her hands through the ex-soldier’s hair. He was sleeping soundly, and she wouldn’t be moving. This could be his best chance for sleep, and he needed rest more than she needed to start on her to-do list. 

PTSD. She noticed the signs before this, but is certain now. She’s not a psychologist, but she’s been there, enough that she still had bad days. Watching Bucky suffer hurts, and brings back the echoes of her own trauma. Amelia shoves back the memories, whispers words of comfort and just holds him. She tells him that he is not alone anymore. That he has worth. That she is glad that he chose her door, out of all of them he could have chosen, and that she is glad that he decided to stay. And even though he is sleeping, and cannot hear, he falls into a deep sleep, and for the first time, she sees his face relax. 

Bucky is beautiful when he sleeps. 

Time passes, and she drifts off. When she awakes, it is sometime after noon, and Bucky was still sleeping. At some point, he’d shifted, his metal arm wrapping around her, with his face now pressed against her stomach. She’s hungry. She can’t feel her legs. But she still isn’t moving. So she reaches for the remote and turns on some mindless TV series, and lets the hours drift by.

*** 

Bucky is first aware of the odd position he’s sleeping in. Years of sleeping on a cot, when he is not frozen in a cryotube, have left their mark. But he is comfortable. Warm. The second thing he is aware of is movement. Not his. He can feel the movement of breathing against his cheek, the slight in and out of a slim stomach. He can feel the warmth of another’s hand in his, and the unfamiliar sensation of someone running their hands through his hair in a distracted manner. There is noise in the background-- a television show. His brain struggles to make a connection, and then.. 

“Amelia.” 

The hand in his hair stills. “Hey, Bucky. Welcome back.” 

He pushes up and looks out the window. It is evening. The clock on the DVD player reads 7:30. What? 

“You had an...episode. Just a minor one. And then you fell asleep.” 

“An episode?” He inches closer, already missing the contact, but unsure if he would be welcome if he reached out.

“I think you had a flashback. They can be disorienting. You didn’t know who I was, or where you were. I don’t know if you even realized you were free at first.” 

Flashback. He’s had those before; they don’t always end well. He scans her for any signs that things went wrong. “Are you hurt?” 

“No. No, you were fine. And you got some sleep finally. Just over 12 hours.” 

His gaze jerks back to her face. “You stayed?” 

She shrugs. “You were comfortable. But I really have to use the bathroom. And I’m starving. What would you like?” 

***

They end up with macaroni and cheese, only because it doesn’t require thawing and is slightly healthier than eating take-out again. Bucky watches her cook, taking note of her inefficient use of the knife to slice the blocks of cheese. When she starts in on the vegetables for a salad, he hesitantly speaks up. “May I help?” 

She turns, and after a moment, shrugs. She hands him the knife and steps out of his way. By the time she finishes her cheese sauce, the veggies are uniformly sliced and waiting on the cutting board. She hands him a large bowl, and he tosses everything together. 

“Thank you,” she says, as he sets the bowl on the table. She throws the cheese and noodle mix into a casserole dish and pops it into the oven, and then goes around him to the fridge. Moments later, she is back and handing him a red and white aluminum can. He’d seen them before, and knew that they held soda, but had never tried to open one. He watches as Amelia opens hers. Finally, she glances up, immediately catching on to the problem.

“You just sort of pull the tab forward, and then push it back down once it’s open.” She holds her can up to show him. He duplicates the movement, and the top opens. 

“I didn’t happen to think that they might not have had these in the 40s. There’s a lot that they didn’t cover in history class.” She considers for a moment. “If there are any other...gaps...anywhere, just ask. I’m happy to explain things.” 

“They woke me up sometimes, for missions. But everything is still all messed up.” He gestures to his head, and hope she understands. 

“Are you having trouble sorting everything out?” 

He nods. That’s it. “Like a puzzle, but there are too many missing pieces and nothing fits right.” 

She considers a moment, then stands up. A few minutes later she returns with a spiral notebook and a pen. She slides it over to him. “Write everything down. It’ll help.” 

He picks them up, and casts a quick glance to the oven, wondering how much time he might have before dinner is ready. Amelia catches his look and shoos him away. “Go on. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” 

He holds the notebook tight to his chest and makes his way up to his room. He’s filled up two pages with impressions, questions, and small, detailed sketches _(blue eyes)_ by the time Amelia calls him back down. He slips the notebook under the mattress of his bed, and then hurries down the stairs. Dinner is set out on the table, along with two plates, and she doesn’t ask about the notebook. 

“I have work tomorrow, or I’m supposed to have. I emailed my boss to let him know that I’ve had a family emergency, and that I’ll need the week off.” She paused. “The problem is, Tony Stark calls the office first thing Monday afternoon. I can call him from my office setup, that won’t be problem, but I’m going to need you to stay out of the room and quiet. I can come up with an excuse, but I don’t want to push our luck.”

Bucky thinks over her words. “Tony Stark, he could be a problem?” 

She smiles a bit. “The name doesn’t ring any bells?” 

“Stark sounds familiar.” He gets an impression of a dark haired man with a mustache. 

“He’s Howard Stark’s son. You knew Howard before. Tony is a member of the Avengers. Steve works with them. Tony also has appointed himself my official caretaker. And if I don’t have a good story for him, he’ll be ringing my doorbell before dinner. He worries.” 

Bucky feels the soldier begin to take over, working through a half dozen scenarios, strategizing ways to keep them all safe. He was not programmed to deal with overprotective friends. He was not, he’s quickly realizing, programmed to deal with a lot of stuff this woman was bringing into his life. 

“We don’t have to worry about it right now,” Amelia cut in. “And I can come up with something. It won’t be the first time.” She smiles a bit. “Although, if you would let him, he could look at your arm for you, just to make sure there aren’t any nasty surprises hiding in all of your wiring, or whatever. And he’ll keep your presence here a secret, even from Steve, if I ask. You can trust him.” 

Bucky feels a burst of panic. “No.” 

“Okay. That’s fine.” She holds up her hands in a placating way. “I just wanted you to know that the option is there, if you ever choose to take it, all right?” 

He nods, taking a bite of the macaroni and cheese. He knows that, eventually, he’s going to have to face Steve again, and he knows that facing Steve will mean contact with the rest of the Avengers team, too, even if the thought of meeting them is still abstract in his thoughts. He is starting to remember what he’s done, and he’s read about who he was, before Hydra got their hands on him. He has a hunch that 1943 Bucky wouldn’t approve of the things he’s done, and that Steve would be outright horrified. 

Bucky doesn’t dare face him until he can accept the fact that Steve is going to take one look at him and push him away. He’s not the Bucky that Captain Rogers used to know, and he’s not at all certain who, or what, was left in his wake. 

***

Amelia retires to her bedroom after dinner, laptop in hand. It’s the first time she’s had time free to research, and she plans on making the most of it. She opens up a new tab, and types _[help a friend with PTSD]_ into the search bar. She’s familiar with the basics--being friends with Tony and Steve, how could she not be?--but nothing that has prepared her for an amnesiac ex-super assassin moving into her guest room. She’s overwhelmed and underprepared. 

Unfortunately, as it turns out, the internet isn’t prepared, either. She picks up a few useful tips, but very little she didn’t already know. Winging it seems like a risky strategy, but it’s the best one she has, at least until she can talk to Steve and Sam. 

When she finally logs off, it’s well past midnight. She sets the laptop on her nightstand and leaves the room, heading down to get a drink of water. Bucky’s door is closed, but there is a light shining beneath the door. Amelia pauses, and then knocks. 

“Bucky? Are you still awake?” 

She hears the faint groan of the bed springs, and then the door opens. He stares down at her in silence. 

“Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I went to bed.” 

He shakes his head, and turns to close the door. 

“Bucky?” 

He turns back. 

“You know that you can come get me, right? If you can’t sleep, or don’t want to be alone, I mean. I’m just down the hall, and you’re always welcome.” 

He nods, and starts to turn away, and then stops to look back at her. “I was writing. It...helps.” 

She smiles. “I’m glad. Good night, Bucky.” 

He closes the door. Amelia gets a glass of water and goes to bed, only to wake three hours later when she hears a soft knock on her door. Bucky is standing on the other side, anxiously rubbing his flesh hand along the length of his metal arm. He looks miserable. 

“Bucky?” 

“I can’t sleep,” he admits softly. He squirms under her gaze. 

“Alright. Do you want me to sit with you for a while?” 

He gives a jerky nod. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming to get me, Bucky. You did the right thing.” She follows him into his room, sitting down beside him while he gets under the covers. He slides closer, until his shoulder is pressed against her thigh. She reaches out, hesitantly soothing his hair back from his face. He makes a soft noise, and turns towards her touch. Amelia hides a smile, and starts running her fingers through his hair. 

"Sleep, Bucky. You're safe. I'm not going anywhere." 

He makes another soft sound, and closes his eyes. In less than fifteen minutes, he is sound asleep.


	4. I'm an Amnesiac. Not an Idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, and thanks for stopping by to read! And thank you all so much for all of the hits, kudos, bookmarks, and comments. They mean so much, and each one brings a smile to my face (and usually prompts an embarrassingly intense happy dance). 
> 
> Bumping the rating up a bit for adult language.
> 
> This chapter has Tony, Steve, and a minor memory break-through. And it leads into our first flashback (next chapter), where we start to see just how Amelia fits into everything in the first place. 
> 
> The mistakes and Amelia are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

Bucky spends the morning curled up in the armchair with her iPad. 

Amelia woke up just as the sun started to peek through the curtains of the guest room, having fallen asleep at Bucky’s side the night before. The ex-assassin was already awake, one arm draped across her lap and his face pressed to her ribs. As soon as she started to move, he rolled away, putting a few feet of space between them. Amelia let him go with little more than a second glance, pushing up in a move that wasn’t nearly as graceful as his. 

“Good morning,” she mumbled, shoving her hair away from her face. 

Bucky grunted a response, and stalked towards the bathroom. Amelia made up the bed then went to start breakfast. 

By 9:30, she’s sprawled out on the couch with her laptop, getting started on what she’d need for her meeting with Tony. An hour later, Bucky leaves the chair and comes over, and she moves to give him space. He sits down next to her, and angles the ipad so she can see it, too. He’s pulled up her photo gallery, the device displaying a picture of her and Steve. They were in jeans and t-shirts, standing in front of the giraffe enclosure at the Bronx zoo. One of the giraffes had come over, sticking its head over their shoulders. Steve was laughing as the giraffe tried to reach the food in his hand.

“He’d only been awake for a couple months,” Amelia said. "It’d been a rough week, so I dragged him out of his apartment for the afternoon.” 

“He’s...happy?” 

“He’s getting closer. The transition, waking up to the realization that everyone he knew was gone, that his time was gone? It wasn’t easy. When they thawed him out, you’d only died a few days before, for him.” 

“How long-- How long now?” 

“Almost two years.” 

Bucky flipped to the next picture, again from the zoo. A few more swipes, and he reached the pictures of Steve’s first Christmas in the present. He’s wearing a goofy Captain America-themed elf hat, complete with a pompom on the end, tearing the paper from the gift in his lap. He’s smiling, but it’s a bit bittersweet. Bucky looks up at her. 

“The Lonely Hearts Christmas dinner,” Amelia explains with a smile. “This was our fourth year, our first with the whole team. It started with Tony and I, his driver, and Pepper.” She points everyone out as she goes. “And then after New York, we added Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and anyone else without holiday plans. It was a rough day for him; a lot of memories to sort through.”

He nods, as if he understands, as if too many memories was a problem he has, too. “You don’t spend Christmas with your family?” 

She shook her head. “It's just me.” 

He turns to look at her, and she sees a flicker of emotion in his gaze. It’s gone in an instant, and he goes back to looking at pictures, occasionally asking her about the ones he finds. She tries to pay attention to her work, giving him time to discover on his own. She hides a smile when he finds the videos. The first was taken at a Yankees and Giants game that Steve dragged her along to that first summer. He didn’t know who to root for, with the Dodgers being traitors to Brooklyn, the Giant’s being the Dodger’s rivals, and the Yankees being the historic rivals of the Giants, but it didn’t matter in the end. Both teams did terribly, and prompted a long rant about how baseball was better in his time. She filmed part of it, and he made a face at her when he noticed, but even Steve was laughing by the end of it, as she teased him about his old man rant. Bucky’s eyes lit up as he watched it, showing more spark than she’d seen yet, and she made a note to pursue it further, trying to determine if it was baseball or Steve himself that triggered that flash of recognition. 

There were a couple other videos, and then Bucky reached the last one. Her favorite.

It was from a few months ago, just before her birthday. They’d had plans to go out for the day, but he was sent on a mission halfway across the world at the last minute. So he made her a video, instead. 

“Happy birthday, Amy. I’m not there, and I should be, but super villains wait for no one. I wish I was there to take you out tonight, but because I’m not, I thought I’d do this instead.” Steve paused, looking down for a moment before raising his eyes back to the camera. “You were my first friend after I woke up. The first person to try to see past the history reports and military files. I can’t thank you enough for that. You saved me from a lot of rough nights, and you’ll never know how much that meant. I’ve only had two really great friends in my life, and you’re one of them. I’m honored to know you.” He smiled, an expression that was equal parts happy and sad and brave, and something in it felt so familiar that Bucky felt his chest seize up. “Anyhow, when I get back, we’ll have to reschedule our day out. And I know this great little bakery in Brooklyn that used to make the best cakes. So, until then..” Steve began singing the birthday song, just a little off-key, and he hammed it up a bit for the camera. He ended with a goofy, but genuine, smile, and wished Amy happy birthday again before the video ended. Amelia blinked back a few tears--the video always made her emotional--and watched Bucky for his reaction. He just stared at the screen, at the image of Steve’s smiling face, for a long moment. 

“The other friend. Who--” he cut off, and swallowed thickly. 

“You, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

He nods, and sets the iPad aside. “I remembered. I _knew_ him.” Bucky looks close to tears, and he’s shaking again. She reaches for his hand, and he holds it tightly. 

“When?” 

“The man on the bridge. I _knew_ him.” 

“The day on the highway? Before Steve was arrested?” 

Bucky nods, somewhat reluctantly. “I knew him. They said I didn’t. And then-- _wipe him_.” His voice pitches lower for the last two words, taking on an unfamiliar cadence. He was mimicking someone else’s voice, she realized with a sick jolt.

Amelia uses her free hand to grab the iPad again. “Can I show you something?” She presses and swipes for a moment, and then a video takes up the screen. It’s an old one, black and white, but he recognizes Steve. And then, there he is. Laughing at a shared joke. Clapping Steve on the back. Staring at a spread of maps, at Steve’s side. Cleaning weapons around a camp fire. It’s the longer version of what they play at the Smithsonian, one Tony had put together for Steve. The reel continues for another minute. When it is over, Bucky looks up, confusion on his face. 

“You knew him, Bucky. You and Steve grew up in Brooklyn together. He’s told me stories. You were his best friend, and he was yours. You fought together in the war, but you were lost. HYDRA took you. Steve thought you were dead. He crashed his plane into arctic waters a few days later, and woke up in New York seventy years later.” 

Bucky stared back down at the screen. “He died?” 

“Everyone thought he did, yeah. They pulled the plane out of the ice a couple years ago, and found him in there. The country sort of went nuts; a beloved hero returning like that. It was the only thing on the news for a week.” 

Bucky fell silent, and then stood suddenly, heading for his room. Amelia watched him go, letting him take the space he needed, and returned to her work. 

***

Bucky curls up in the overstuffed chair beside his bed, the tablet held tightly in his hands. His mind is running out of control, trying to piece the new information about Steve into his limited impression of the man in blue. He didn’t have any memories to fall back on, but seeing the videos, hearing about him, some things just felt right. Like they echoed through to something deep inside of him. Undeniable truths in the eyes of a stranger. 

He’d read about Steve’s disappearance at the Smithsonian, but the words on the screens meant little to him at the time. Baseless facts that he felt no connection to. They didn’t mean anything. But now, only a few weeks later, the thought of Steve’s ‘death’, the thought of him trapped in ice, frozen for seventy years, left him feeling nauseous and panicky. It was okay when his handlers led him into the cryo unit, closing the metal door and locking it tightly before the cold came. His list of sins was long; he made his peace. It was the start of his atonement for all of the wrong he’d done. What else could his handlers have done with him between missions? Bucky knew that he was prone to being difficult to manage.

But Steve? He was good. He didn’t deserve punishment. He didn’t deserve the cold and pain. He was a hero, the best of all of them. 

Bucky watches the video again. And again after that, until he knows every expression, every shared glance, by heart. He watches it one more time, his gaze shifting away from Steve this time, trying to find some sense of self in the version of Bucky displayed on the screen. He feels...nothing. It’s like watching a stranger, one that he’s never met before and isn’t interested in. There’s no connection. He doesn’t remember this man, the one who smiled and laughed so easily, even with the shadows in his eyes. If it weren’t for their shared face, he’d doubt that they were even the same person.

This whole thing was a mess. He’d read the files. The drop from the train should have killed him, even with the super serum running through his veins. If he’d hit his head on a rock instead of his arm, he would have died instantly. His survival was a matter of luck; good or bad, he wasn’t sure yet. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if he had hit his head. 

But, no. Here he is, hiding out in a borrowed bedroom, trusting everything to a stranger, just because she’d made Steve Rogers smile. Seventy years as a super-assassin, morals aside, and this is what he was reduced to. But, actually, he was okay with it. He was tired of being the Winter Soldier. Being Bucky Barnes, having people who cared about him, having a safe place to rest? It was more than he’d ever thought he’d have, and more than he deserved, but he didn’t have the strength to walk away. He needed this, needed this chance to try again. And he’d be damned if he didn’t grab this opportunity with everything he had.

***

Amelia loads up the conferencing screen, and leans back in her chair. Bucky, she knows, is sitting right outside the door, carefully out of view but still close enough to monitor her call to Tony. The computer beeps, and Tony appears on the screen. He’s wearing an older tshirt, splotched with grease stains, and a pair of jeans, his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions on the top of his head. She can see the familiar sight of his workshop behind him. If he slept at all the night before, she’d be surprised. 

“Hey, kid.” Tony wipes his hands off on a rag, then glances up. “How’s life? No, wait. You’re at home. Why are you at home? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I’m fine. Bit of a stomach bug this weekend, and I’m still kind of wobbly, so I’m just taking the extra day at home.” 

He makes a face, but she sees the concern in his eyes. “That’s disgusting. And we could have rescheduled. Shouldn’t you be resting? Or eating soup, or something?” 

“I’m fine, Tony. 95%. How’s life at the tower?” 

Tony picks up a piece of equipment from the table, and tosses it into the air, catching it again, and then twisting a few pieces before setting it back down. Fidgeting. Stalling. “Life as normal. Your boy started moving all of his stuff in a few days ago. He’s setting up base here while he searches for Barnes.” 

“Is he getting anywhere?”

“Nope. It’s like the man has dropped off the face of the planet. We have footage of him at the exhibit in Washington, but he disappears as soon as he steps out the side door. That was from nearly two weeks ago. Nothing since. Steve is…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Emotional. He’s emotional. There are a lot of emotions happening in the tower right now, and he needs to find his ex-assassin BFF so they can stop.” 

“You think that’s all it’ll take?” Amelia asks with a soft laugh. 

“Oh, god. You’re right. It’s going to get worse, isn’t it? Maybe inviting Steve to stay here was a bad call. Is it too late to ask him to leave? Do you think he’s going to want to move the Frosty Soldier in here, too?” 

“The Frosty Soldier?” 

He shrugs. “It’s a work in progress. Trust the process, kid.”

“He does have a name.”

Tony gives her a look. “Have you even met me?”

She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Really, it could be worse. “I have to call Steve later. I haven’t talked to him since you all got home from Scotland.”

“Yeah, I think you should do that. He’s doing his thing.” 

Ah, there it is. The reason for Tony’s fidgeting. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not good. He spends most of his time either locked in his room or roaming the streets with Wilson. And he’s not sleeping well. Don’t tell him I mentioned that.” 

She blows out a breath. “I’ll call him.” 

“Do that. Now, if you’re done gossiping, how are we on the presentation next month?” 

Amelia felt her lips turn up at the quick change in conversation, Tony pushing it back to a topic he was more comfortable with. “Moving forward ahead of schedule. I heard back from the team in Charleston, and they’re interested in putting together some demo homes in a few different cities. I’m running the analysis on everything now, and will have the report to Pepper by the end of the week.” 

“You’re my favorite. What did you think of the modifications? Is there going to be an interest in the second attachment?” 

“The portable battery? I think it needs to be smaller to really see any substantial home use. Business and defense might be a better market.” 

“Hmm. Smaller, huh? Are you using the prototype?” 

“It’s running the office, which is great, but if I wanted to take it anywhere, it’s a bit bulky. Make something I can clip to my backpack, and we’ll have something to offer consumers.” 

“Huh. Smaller it is, then. Gotta go. Work to do.” 

“Goodbye, Tony. Keep me updated.” 

He waved distractedly, already working, as the screen cut off. Amelia shook her head and closed down the viewing screen, then scribbled down a few quick notes from the meeting. Things were moving forward quickly with the new home power systems, but that meant twice as much work during a time when she really needed to dedicate her attentions elsewhere. 

Something Tony would absolutely understand, except for the fact that he wasn’t allowed to know.

***

“What’s wrong with Steve?” 

Bucky waits until he’s sure the call is over before standing and entering Amelia’s office. She sits at her desk, distractedly clicking a pen and staring out the window, but when he enters, she swivels around to face him. 

“He’s doing the Captain America thing. It’s what he does when he’s trying to distance himself from everything and anything. _He’s fine. He can handle it. Stop worrying_.” She tries to make it sound casual, but he sees the worry in the crease along her forehead, and the inflection in her voice. 

_I can get by on my own_. The words echo through his memories, and the blurry image of a man that accompanies them is all wrong. But he knows, just knows, that the words were Steve’s. “What--?”

“He’s worried. It’s going on three weeks since the Triskelion fell, with no sign of you. But he’s trying to downplay it, instead of letting us know that he’s freaking out. Which is his MO, entirely, but it doesn’t mean I worry any less.” 

Bucky shares the sentiment. He picks up the phone, and hands it back to her. “Call him.”

She takes the phone with a nod, quickly unlocking it and swiping at the screen until it dials Steve’s number. Bucky moves in closer, pulling a chair around to sit only a few feet away, not even bothering to hide the fact that he is eavesdropping. He's curious, sure, but he's also anxious to hear Steve's voice, to hear for himself that the man survived his near-drowning, shot-up torso, and battered face. He still tries not to think about their fight; the look in the Captain's eyes as he told Bucky to complete his mission--devotion, understanding, forgiveness, and more that he can't name--makes him ill. He's not ready to pursue that just yet.

Not to mention the fact that Steve was content to die at his hands, without a fight. No, Bucky's not ready to examine that at all.

He hears the phone rings twice before Steve picks up. “Rogers.” He sounds tired. Weary. Bucky knows, in a way he can't put a finger on, that Steve has been pushing himself too hard.

“Hey, it’s Amy. Do you have a few minutes?” 

***

Amelia watches as Bucky's expression changes from 'mildly interested' to 'mildly annoyed', and after being friends with Steve for even a couple years, she gets it. Steve's tendency to put the mission, whatever it might be (Bucky, at the moment) above any type of self-care is almost legendary. He pushes until his body and mind just can't keep up anymore and then he crashes hard, and when his mission is bringing back his best friend, she knows that he isn't going to stop until he has Bucky safely back in his life.

“Yeah. Sam and I are just going through some more footage. What’s up?” 

“I talked to Tony earlier.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s worried.” 

“Amy--” 

“And if he’s worried, then something is wrong.” 

Steve sighs. “Give me a minute.”

She hears him tell Sam that he’ll be right back, and then hears a door close. It’s another few seconds before Steve speaks again. Bucky just watches her, blue eyes darkened to midnight. She gives him a reassuring smile, and turns up the volume on the phone, tilting the receiver out just enough to let him hear clearly. 

“All set. Sorry. Tony is overreacting. I’m okay, Amy. Just… There’s a lot going on at the moment. I don’t know what I’m doing, or if I’m even doing the right thing. What if we can’t find him because he doesn’t want to be found? What if he’s not just hiding from HYDRA?” 

“You mean, what if he’s hiding from you?” The silence on the other end speaks for itself. She glances to Bucky, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. His face is stony, lips pulled into a scowl. “Steve, maybe he just needs some time to sort things out a bit himself. With what he’s been through, with what he has to be working through right now, it has to be confusing and scary as hell. It might not have anything to do with you.” 

“I should be there. He would do no less for me.” 

“I know. But-- Remember when you first woke up, when Fury had a dozen different specialists for you to see? And what did you want?” 

There’s a pause, and a short exhale. “Time. Space to figure things out, without people poking and prodding at me.” 

“Think maybe he wants the same thing?” 

“But I’m not a specialist. I’m his friend. And he doesn’t have to do this alone.” 

Bucky stares at the phone, and she can see a hint of moisture gathering on his lower lashes. She says the only thing she can say. “He knows, Steve. Trust me, he knows. And when he’s ready, he’s going to come find you. Or let you find him. And when he does, he’s going to need you to be at your best, not exhausted and freaking out.” 

“I know.” 

“Take care of yourself, Steve. And lunch next Wednesday?” Bucky shifts, demeanor changing, and she can read the threat in his eyes. She meets his gaze, and shakes her head. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks, Amy.” 

“Anytime. I’m calling you again in the morning. I want you well-rested and doing something besides tracking down Bucky, at least for a few hours. Don’t lose yourself in this, alright?” 

“I won’t.” 

“Okay, good. Hang in there, Steve. I’ve gotta get going, though. Tony’s working on a new model, so I have a long to-do list for the day. But if you need anything, call, got it? Phone’s always on.” 

“I know. Go get ‘em.” 

Amelia laughs. “Goodbye, Steve.” She hangs up, setting the phone beside her on the desk, and then looking back to Bucky. 

“I won’t tell him that you’re here, but he needs to get away for an afternoon. He’s going to kill himself trying to find you, and I won’t let him do that.” 

Bucky meets her gaze. “Why is he doing this? What I’ve done--” 

Amelia swallows hard. “He’s your friend. He cares. And when Steve Rogers cares about someone, he goes to stupid dangerous lengths for them. Sam is with him, and I trust him to keep Steve grounded, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop looking until he has you back.” She shrugs. “That’s what friends do.” 

He’s quiet a long moment, processing. “He shouldn’t. Stupid punk.” Bucky’s eyes go wide, and he looks up, startled. 

Amelia grins, even if it is a little watery. “You remember that?” 

“Maybe? There was another part. When I said it, he’d call me…” He trails off, and she can see him frantically trying to grasp the fractured memory. She sits silently, barely breathing. A minute ticks by, and he looks back up, the ghost of a smile spreading across his lips. “ _Jerk_. He’d call me a jerk.” 

It’s the first smile she’s seen from him, even if it is little more than a slight upturn of his lips. Her smile widens in response. “Exactly right.”

“He cares about you, too." Amelia nods. "How did you meet him?” 

“Have you heard of the Battle of New York?” Bucky shakes his head. “Okay, right. I guess you wouldn’t have. Two years ago, aliens invaded Earth.” 

He gives her a look. “I’m an amnesiac. Not an idiot.”

“No, really. I can pull up videos, if you’d like. And trust me, none of us were expecting it, either. You know about Thor, the Avenger with the hammer?” Bucky nods. He’s seen footage. “Okay. Long story short, Thor’s brother came to Earth and led brought along a small army of Chitauri, these creatures that live in a realm between worlds. Or something. SHIELD already knew about Loki, the brother, due to an earlier event. When he showed up, Fury started putting together his team. The Avengers. Steve had only been out of ice a week or so at that point. Anyhow, fast forward a few days. Aliens were descending on Manhattan, and the Avengers were there, still barely a team, fighting them off. I was at work, but as soon as we heard what was happening, I started down. Lord knows what I thought I was going to do once I got there, but Tony was involved, and I couldn’t just sit and wait.”


	5. How Steve Met Amelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia just wanted to make sure that Tony was okay, given the number of violent aliens destroying downtown Manhattan. She never bargained for a tentative friendship with a newly-wakened super soldier.
> 
> Or, How Steve Rogers Met Amelia Cassidy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started editing, this chapter was 3500 words long. It broke 6300 before I finished. Another "quick edit" chapter that was anything but... *sigh*
> 
> As always, only Amelia and the mistakes are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

_Early May, 2012. Manhattan_

Amy cut across Manhattan, swerving around parked cars on her drive to Stark tower. She made it within a half dozen blocks of the tower before she could drive no further, climbing out of her car to walk the rest of the way. The news on the radio said that the monsters (Aliens? No one seemed to know what to call them) were centered in a neighborhood down by 42nd street, but there were still tossed cars and other debris covering the streets leading up to that area. Panic began to gnaw at her stomach; she ran the last few blocks, only slowing when she was in sight of the tower. 

There were aliens in this area, storming through the streets. She ducked behind an overturned bus, and waited for them to go past before moving closer to the epicenter of the attack. Soldiers and civilians ran past, going in a dozen different directions, all trying to find a safe place to wait out the destruction. Slipping past them wasn’t difficult, and in only a few minutes, she was standing a block from Stark tower.

There was a small crowd of people standing a short distance away, all costumed and all staring up at the sky. Amelia looked up, and froze, her heart stuttering to a stop as she watched Tony fly up into the hole with what looked suspiciously like a missile held on his back. 

“Tony.” His name escaped her lips, a desperate prayer for his safety. She stepped forward, until she was only twenty feet away from the group of men. There was a deep mechanical buzz, and the aliens surrounding them collapsed. The team looked around, and one, a tall blond, centered his gaze on her. 

“Ma’am, you need to find cover. Get out of the streets. If you go back a few blocks, someone can help you find a safe place.” 

She just shook her head, barely sparing him a glance. .

He moved to her side, and one hand close to his chest, holding his ribs. With a closer look, she realized that she recognized him. The red, white, and blue blazoned across his chest gave it away. Captain America. What was Tony mixed up in this time? 

The Captain pulled his hand away away from his ribs, setting his hand onto her arm instead. “Ma’am, it’s not safe out here, and you-” He paused, and must have seen something in her face, because his arm fell back down to his side. “You know him.”

“Yeah.” 

It was barely a whisper, but the Captain nodded, and took up a protective stance beside her. They all watched the sky and when the portal snapped shut, he set a supportive hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. 

It fell as she stepped forward. “Shit.”

“Ma’am?” 

“Look!” 

Tony was falling towards the ground, but he wasn’t slowing down as he fell. 

“He’s not slowing down!” The other blond called, echoing her thoughts. He tensed, preparing to leap to Tony’s rescue, but instead, the Hulk (she recognized him from the news a couple years ago) swept forward, catching Tony before they both fell to the earth. Captain America (Captain Rogers? Was she allowed to call him that?) pushed her out of the way as The Hulk pushed Tony off of him. The guy with the cape knelt over the metal suit, checking to see if Tony was still breathing. After a long moment, he knelt back, shaking his head. Amelia took a shaking step forward, and then another, desperate to reach Tony. Captain Rogers moved forward, holding her back. 

“Please. I-- I need--” 

She heard a loud roar, and startled, instinctively moving closer to the Captain. He put a protective arm around her, moving to position himself between her and the Hulk. A moment later, she heard a sharp gasp and a familiar sounding, “What the hell.” 

She pushed the Captain aside, and ran to Tony’s side, slowing when the Hulk turned to watch her. He growled softly, and she froze. 

“Easy, big guy. She’s his friend,” Captain Rogers said, coming up behind her. The Hulk stared for another moment, and then huffed. “Go ahead,” The Captain said. 

Tony looked up, watching her move closer. “Amy?” 

She knelt down at his side, and pushed sweaty bangs from his forehead. “You’re an idiot. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. Think so. Ouch. Things hurt. I’m just going to stay here, I think. Is that okay? That’s okay, right?” 

The man in the cape grabbed his hand, and hauled him up to his feet. Tony curled a hand around Amy’s shoulder, and the other man set a hand against his other arm, helping to support him. Tony took a few deep breaths, and then glanced down at Amy. “Wait. Actually, what the hell are you doing here? Are you stupid?”

Amy took a step back, letting the other guy hold him up. “Stupid? Really? Stupid like _carrying_ a freaking bomb through to another dimension? That kind of stupid? Because I’m pretty certain you have the market cornered on that.” 

“Well, it’s not like I could just throw it.” 

“It’s a missile. It’s self-propelled! Remember that fiery bit coming out the back? But I do appreciate you showing off for all of your new friends. Good to know where the rest of us stand.” She didn’t mean it, not really. But when she heard his name in the news report (Iron Man is a part of the team fighting back against the intruders…), she panicked, dropping everything to make it here, to make sure that she wasn’t about to lose the only person in her life that still mattered. Driving towards the destruction took every ounce of her strength, and she was shaking and scared, and one wrong move from a hellish flashback, and then he fell from the sky, and she just couldn’t handle anything else right then. 

Tony’s shoulders drooped a bit. “Amy, I--” 

She closed the distance between them and hugged him as tightly as she dared. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“You are a fortunate man, indeed, Man of Iron. It’s an uncommon woman that would join her mate on the battlefield to assure herself of his safety,” the blond with long hair commented, clapping Tony soundly on the back.

“Does that mean I get a kiss?” Tony joked. 

The gentle, familiar teasing helped. “Try it, and I’ll break your nose. And then I’ll let Pepper have at you.” 

Tony blanched. 

“We aren’t quite done yet,” the tall blond in a cape reminded them. 

“Yeah, yeah. We know.” Tony turned to Amelia, holding to her shoulder. “I don’t know how this is going to go. Stay on the bottom floor, and if there are any loud noises or shaking, run. There’s an underground lot three blocks away. Stay there until someone comes for you. And afterwards, does anyone else want Shawarma? Have you had that before?” he asked the Captain, before turning his attention back to Amy. “You coming with us?”

“Nope. The post-battle celebration is all you guys.” 

“You sure, kid?” 

“Yeah. I’m good. Go get ‘em.” 

Tony nodded, squeezing her shoulder lightly before leading the others into the tower. Amy followed, slipping through the halls of the main level and making her way to a small inner office. There she waited, phone in hand, as Jarvis gave her a play-by-play of what was happening up in Tony’s penthouse. While she waited, she also called Pepper, letting her know that Tony was okay, and that everything was almost over. 

There was a long few minutes with no word from JARVIS when he finally cut back in. “Miss Cassidy, Tony requests your presence on the 33rd level.”

“Got it. Tell him I’ll be right there. Thanks, JARVIS.”

She made her way to the elevator and traveled up to Tony’s penthouse. The doors opened on what looked like a war zone, broken glass, cement, and ceiling tile scattered across the floor. The blonde with the long hair and a cape walked past, keeping a tight grip on the dark haired man she recognized from TV. 

“Come on in, kid. We’re just getting ready to head out, but I thought you might like to meet the team.” He went through the introductions. A few of the names were familiar, a few weren’t, and outside of a polite nod and a ‘how do you do?’, they mostly ignore her, with the exception of Captain Rogers. 

“And this is Captain America. Remember him, from your history books in grade school?” 

The Captain sent him an annoyed scowl, and then sticks out his hand. “Steven Rogers, Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Captain Rogers, but please, Amy is fine.” 

His lips curved into an almost smile, but it looked tired and rehearsed. “Amy, then. And it’s Steve. Please.”

“You still staying behind, kid?” Tony cut in. 

“Yeah. I’ll wait here for Pepper. She’s landing at JFK in another hour. You should call her, though.” 

“I will. Thanks. Bring you back something?” 

“Sure. Nothing weird.” 

“Got it. Come on, team; the schwarma awaits.” 

Everyone started to follow him out, but Steve hesitated. “Are you sure you won’t join us?” 

“I’m sure, but thank you.” 

The other blonde man, the taller one, walked in, his dark haired companion absent, just as Steve was walking out. Steve paused, waiting, and then they both left, leaving Amy alone. She let out a breath of relief, and glanced around at the destruction. A good friend would try to at least sweep up the broken glass, but knowing JARVIS, there was already a cleaning service on the way. 

When Tony started building this ridiculous building, he’d asked for her input on designing a suite for her own use. What she ended up with was a suite just below the party floor, with a bedroom, an office, a living room, and a small kitchen. That’s where she escaped to, grabbing a magazine from the entry table just inside her door and curling up in the recliner as she waited for the almost-team to return. 

***

JARVIS cut through the silence an hour and a half later. Miss Cassidy, I apologize for the intrusion but Sir requests entrance to your rooms.”

“He’s fine. Let him in.”

The door swung open and Tony walked in, to-go bag in hand. “Hey. We’re back.” He set it on the table in front of her, and took a seat on the couch. 

“How was it?” 

“Eh. Bit like a philly cheese sub, without the cheese. And with different meat.” 

“So, nothing at all like a philly sub?” 

He shrugged. “I got you chicken, no cucumbers. You doing alright?” 

“Better. Pepper is nearly here, by the way. Might want to go rinse the dirt and blood off your face.” 

“In a minute.” He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “If I ever see you running out into the middle of a battle, for me or anyone else again, I will lock you in the basement of my tower until you’re too old and decrepit to do something so stupid. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand. And for the record, I was worried about you, too.” She stood up, taking up the space beside him on the couch. He slipped an arm around her, and she set her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“You’re not going to cry, are you? Because Pepper started crying on the phone, and I've reached my quota of hysterical women for the day."

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“Good. Oh, we’re having a get together upstairs in another hour or so. Everyone is bunking in the spare rooms for tonight, so you won’t be alone down here, if you’re staying.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” Tony gave her a look, and she smiled lightly, curling in closer. “Yeah, I can stay.”

“And come to the get-together?” 

Amelia made a face. “Do I have to?” 

“Yes. If I have to do this, so do you. Besides, how often do you get to meet a real ancient Norwegian god?”

***

The party was fairly tame, by Stark standards. For the most part, everyone huddled in small groups. Banner and Tony had wandered off a half hour into the party, off to tour the R&D floors. Pepper and Natasha were standing near the windows, catching up. Thor entertained the rest of the group with tales of his past battles and of life in foreign realms. 

Amy took up a seat a dozen feet from the others, close enough to keep an eye on things without feeling like she was intruding. As the evening wore on, Thor’s tales got louder, drawing in Pepper and Natasha, and Tony returned with Bruce, adding to the chaos. It started to get overwhelming, after the long day, and she needed quiet. With the others caught up in one of Tony’s stories, Amy grabbed her water bottle and slipped out the door.

Three doors to the left was a small den. She slipped inside, grateful to be away from windows and the noise of Manhattan. JARVIS turned on some soothing music as soon as she opened the door, and a small lamp near the couch flickered on.

“Thanks, J.” Amelia crossed the room, heading for the bookshelf.

“Not a problem, Miss Cassidy. Sir wishes to know if you’re okay.” 

“I’m fine. I just...I need a bit. I’ll be back.” 

“I will relay your message. Take the space you need. Would you like me to lock the door for you?”

“No, that’s alright.”

She skimmed the shelf for a book, setting it beside her as she settled back on the couch. She pulled her knees in to her chest, clinging tightly to her legs with her forehead set along the tops of her knees. She’s _okay_. She was in New York, but she was safe. Tony was only a whispered request away; JARVIS would waste no time in getting him to her, should she need him. 

She stayed that way, concentrating on her breathing _(in..2..3..4.., out..2..3..4..)_ , until she heard a soft knock against the side of the door. She jerked her head up, and letting her legs fall down to the floor.

“Sorry to startle you. Are you-- uh, are you alright?”

Steve stood just inside the doorway, a worried look on his face. 

“Yeah, just tired.”

He nodded. “It’s been a long day. Do you mind if I come in? The door was partially open, and I heard music playing, and I thought, well… The party is a bit overwhelming, and I could use some quieter company.”

She nodded, and he came in, sitting in the chair kiddie-corner her spot on the couch. As he moved into the light, she notices the red flush staining his cheeks and neck. 

“Either your nervous around me, which would be hilarious because you were fighting aliens earlier and didn’t look at all nervous then, or Tony is being Tony. I’m going to guess the second one.” 

A dark look crossed his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. “I have never met a man so full of himself.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “You knew his dad, right?”

***

Steve blew out his breath, and it sounded frustrated, even to his ears. “Howard was a good man. Committed to helping others. His son is nothing like him. If he helps people, it’s for his own benefit.” 

“Tony has done more good for the world than you know. He doesn’t deserve your judgement, not when you don’t even know him.”

Another hot flush climbed his cheeks. He knew censure when he heard it. “You know him pretty well, then?” 

“Yes, and I know that he can be acerbic, but he’s a good guy, and he’ll have your back no matter what.” She shrugged. “He’s just going to piss you off in the process.”

A short chuckle escaped through his lips. “Yeah. I noticed. So, um, are you a part of SHIELD, too?” 

She looked startled for a moment, and then laughed. “Oh, god. No. I’m not really the ‘save the world’ type. I have a hard enough time not tripping over my blankets on my way out of bed in the morning. Super hero material, I am not.” 

He gave her a closer look. She wasn’t short, but she’s hardly tall. Not too far off from Peggy’s height, if he had to guess. She had long dark hair, tied tightly at the base of her neck, and dark brown eyes. Slim and athletic, but she doesn’t look or move like any of the SHIELD agents he’s met so far. It’s refreshing. “I’m glad. It’s nice to find someone...normal.”

“Coming from the super soldier?” She quirked an eyebrow, her smile teasing. 

“Yeah. Well, I wasn’t always. Or don’t they teach that in the history books?” 

“They do. We did a whole unit on you and your team in seventh grade, complete with an essay on which member of the Howling Commandos was our favorite and why.”

“That’s, uh--” He paused and took a breath, fighting down another blush. One of the hardest things to adjust to was his new-found celebrity status. “Who did you choose?” 

She shrugged. “Sergeant Barnes? I think so, anyhow. It was a few years ago.” 

His heart skipped a beat. “You wrote about Bucky?” She looked a little guilty when Steve’s voice cracked on his name, and he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. To her, it was just a school assignment. But to him, it meant that people still cared enough about his best friend to remember him. To write about him. And he knew it was irrational, but this was also the first time someone had spoken Bucky’s name to him since he woke up, and he’s torn between crying and hugging her. But, at her concerned look, he refrained. 

“It hasn’t been very long, has it?” Her voice was gentle. Sympathetic.

He looked away. “Less than two weeks, for me.” 

“I am so sorry, Steve.” He felt a soft touch as her hand closed over his. “And then to wake up to all of this-- Are you doing okay?” He hesitated, and she pulled back. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that. Sometimes I sort of let my mouth get ahead of my brain.” 

“It’s fine. Really. Thank you for asking. I’m.. I’m alright.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

He shrugged and tried to find a way to explain. “It’s a lot to take in sometimes. This is a whole new world. It’s, uh, it’s hard to know my place in it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He took a breath, and then let it out slowly. “Back in my time, I could lead missions, take out HYDRA agents, and I really felt like I was making a difference. But here, today? I don’t measure up to these other guys. I have muscles and a shield. Stark can fly and shoot lasers from his hands. Thor is from another world. Bruce is, well… I don’t know if there’s a place for me in this time. I don’t belong here.” 

There was none of the earlier hesitation as she reached out again, her hand finding his. “That’s all true. The other Avengers are all amazing. But you were the one leading them. They need that. _That’s_ your place.” 

He looked back to her, somewhat skeptical. “I don’t know if that’s a job I want.” 

“Official crazy wrangler. Someone has to do it.” 

“Official crazy wrangler, huh?” A small smile crossed his lips, and this one almost touched his eyes. 

“We could make t-shirts.” She gave him a gentle smile. “I saw you out there today, a little. And you took all of their crazy and turned it into a team that could stop an alien invasion. Don’t tell me you don’t have a place with them.” She pulled back, relaxing into the couch. “Besides, you don’t seem like the type to just sit back and let everyone else save the world while you sit at home.” 

“I’m not. Never have been, much to Bucky’s constant dismay. He spent years picking me up and putting me back on my feet. Did the history books mention that?” 

She shook her head. “No, they didn’t.”

“I, uh, always had more integrity than sense. I couldn’t turn my back. It got me in a lot of fights that I couldn’t hope to win. Bucky was always there to step in, or at least to pick me up and drag me home afterward.” 

“He sounds like a great friend.” 

“He, uh, he was.” God, talking about Bucky was hard. “I was lucky to have him. Did you ever read about how we met?” 

She got comfortable as he recalled some of the stories from his and Bucky’s childhood, laughing along at some of their adventures. Stories from their youth turned into stories from the war. When he wiped a tear or two from his cheeks, she pretended not to notice. 

Once he’d started telling Amelia about Bucky, he found that he couldn’t stop. He wanted her to know who he’d been, who they’d both been. More than just the stories in the history books. He didn’t want to be the only one who knew these stories. He has no idea where all of this is coming from, but it feels like a release, letting his memories out into the open. Finding someone who was willing to listen. After all of the horrors of the day, it felt good to slip into being normal again. 

He leaned forward, arranging the books, magazines, and water bottle on the coffee table into an approximation of the layout of one of their missions. A small bowl of hard candies provided stand-in members of the Howling Commandos. “So, we were all set up to sneak in and find the research on the serum, and blow up whatever was left of the base. Bucky was set up here, in this huge oak tree. It’s the middle of the night, and silent except for the occasional burst of static from their security guard’s radio. 

“The next thing I know, we all hear this yelp, and then a crashing sound. Bucky comes tumbling out of the tree, chased by a swarm of angry bees. He’d all but stuck his foot into their hive. He starts running, trips, and ends up rolling down the hill, rifle still in his hands. 

“At this point, there’s no one in the compound who doesn’t know we’re coming. Lights are turning on all over the place, and we’re officially out of time. I run down the hill, just as Bucky’s reaching the bottom, and clear out the entry way. Dum-Dum holds the door, and Bucky leads the bees right into the base. He can’t get rid of them! Bullets are flying, bees are everywhere, and Bucky just turns to me with this stupid grin and tells me that he’s decided to give up being a sniper for beekeeping. Word got out, and the next day, he finds a full beekeeper’s outfit on his bunk, so he wears it into mess the next morning.” Steve pauses, laughing, as he remembered exactly how ridiculous Bucky had looked in the damned thing. “Of course, they made him go get back into his uniform after, but he was good for that, you know? It’d had been a rough few weeks, and he broke the tension. I miss that.” He blinks. “I really miss that. He would have fit in here. He’d just adapt. He’d spend the afternoon acclimating, and then be out meeting dames that night. Wouldna’ missed a step.” 

“I don’t know. I can imagine that it’s a lot, even for someone who can adapt easily. I think you’re doing amazingly well. I’d probably be living under my bed by this point.” 

Steve felt his lips twitch. “I considered it, but my shoulders won’t fit under the frame.” 

“Well, it’s obviously time for a bigger bed.” 

He laughed, a bit more of the worry easing off of his face. “That might be true. We’ll see how the next week or two go.” 

“Can’t be any crazier than this week.” 

Steve shook his head. “Never say never.” 

“Fair point. Last week at this time, I was trying to deal with the fact that Amazon messed up my order and sent me a giant jar of pickles instead of the two books I purchased. I sort of thought that was going to be the height of crazy for the month.” 

“You ordered from the jungle?” 

“What? Oh, no. It’s a website. They sell everything. You’ll have to check it out sometime.” 

He nodded, and pulled a tiny notebook from his pocket, and scribbled something into it. He paused, still looking at the notebook, before looking back at her. “Do you mind if-- I have a question you might be able to help me with.” 

Amelia sat up a bit. “Of course. Ask away.” 

“What’s wireless?” 

“What?” 

“The waitress the other day. She said that the cafe had free wireless. Radio?”

Amelia smiled. “Internet access. Although, you could access radio stations from your phone through the wireless, if you wanted to.” 

He gave her a helpless look. “That didn’t help.” 

“Do you have a phone?” 

“At home.” 

“A cellular phone?” She pulled hers out, and he shook her head. “Okay. Let me show you. Name a singer.”

“I don’t really know any--” 

“From the 30s or 40s is fine.”

“Glenn Miller.” 

“Okay.” She scooted closer to him so that they could both see the screen. Steve watched as she touched the screen on top of a small blue drawing. The screen changed. She touched a magnifying glass, and a keyboard showed up on the screen. Amy typed in ‘Glenn Miller’ and it brought up a list of songs. 

“Pick one.” 

He read over the list. “A String of Pearls.” 

“Okay. Touch right over it.” He did, and seconds later, the song started.

“JARVIS, can we get this through the speakers?”

There was a click, and the music started playing throughout the room. “Wireless,” Amy said with a smile. 

“Huh. What else can your phone do?” 

“Just about everything. Come here.” She patted the seat beside her, and he moved over. She held the phone up in front of them, and he could see their faces in the screen. “Smile.” He did, and she moved her head a little closer before he heard a clicking sound. She pulled away, and then handed the phone back to him, now with a picture of the two of them displayed. The quality was a hundred times better than he could have taken in his own time. 

“There are also games and such on there, too. If you push the little white button at the bottom, it will bring you to the main screen. Swipe left or right to find things.” She reached over again, showing him. He tried it out himself, grinning when it worked. She scooted back on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with her book while he explored her phone. 

That’s exactly the image that met Tony when he came in to find Amelia. He stopped just inside the door, listening to the odd mix of 40s tunes and game sounds. “Do you have Captain America playing Flappy Bird?” 

“He beat 2048 the first round through. I had to give him more of a challenge.” 

“You’re corrupting his old-fashioned wholesomeness.” 

Steve looked up. “She’s taking me out to find a phone tomorrow.”

“And speakers,” Amelia reminded him. 

He nodded. “And speakers.” 

Tony looked at her, and even Steve could read the disappointment on his face. “Uh, no, she’s not.” He turned slightly to face Steve. “I’ll have a Stark phone, and speakers, waiting for you in the morning. Amy knows better.” 

“Didn’t want to presume,” came her reply. 

He waved her off. “Can’t have Capsicle using Apple products. Or, worse, Blackberry. You look like the kind of guy that would buy one of those disasters.” Tony shuddered. “Actually Amy, weren’t you leaving first thing in the morning? I seem to remember something about wanting to beat the midday crowds.” 

Amelia shrugged. “I can stick around for a few hours.”

“Oh no. His baby blues got to you, didn’t they?” 

Steve looked up. “What?”

“Nah, I have a weakness for antiques. You know that.” She caught Steve’s glance and gave him a quick wink. 

“Funny.” He fought to keep a smile from his face.

“I just have a few hours to spare. Thought this would be a nice way to use them.” 

“Maybe we can get lunch somewhere, and you can show me how to use the phone?” Steve suggested. “I haven’t really had the chance to see the city yet, if you don’t mind. I mean, if you’re busy, I can--” 

“That sounds nice,” Amelia interrupted. “And it’s no hassle.”

Tony looked gleeful. “Perfect. Seeing as we have that figured out, I’m going back to my party. Feel free to join in whenever. Or don’t.” He left again, closing the door behind him. 

“He’s always like this?” Steve asked. 

“Worse, usually. He’s exhausted. I give it half an hour before Pepper breaks up the revelry and drags him off to bed.”  
Steve understood. It seemed that all he needed to beat insomnia was a few days of chasing power-hungry near-immortals and defending the Earth from alien invaders. He was exhausted. “She has the right idea. Do you want to meet up after breakfast tomorrow, or is that too early?”

“After breakfast is perfect.” 

He nodded, and bid her a good night, making the short trip down a level to his assigned guest room.

***

Steve, Bruce, Clint and Natasha were already in the community room when Amelia walked in the next morning. Pepper had a change of clothes delivered, something a step or two up in fashion from her usual laid-back style, but she had to admit that the look fit her. She helped herself to a croissant and some fruit, and Steve gestured for her to sit near him. When she sat down, he pulled out a small gift bag and set it on the table. 

“This was waiting outside my door this morning.” He reached in, pulling out the latest Stark phone model and setting it between them. He reaches in again, and pulls out a bluetooth speaker. “There’s a book of instructions, but I haven’t made it any further than just turning it on. There’s not much on the phone. It’s not like yours.” 

“Mm. We have the same model. You just have to pick your apps out and download them yourself.” She popped a grape into her mouth. 

“Right. Apps are like games, right?” 

“Depends. You’ll see when we look through it later. So, was there anyplace special you wanted to check out while we’re exploring?” 

***

They end up wandering. Amy pointed out some of her favorite spots, and took him to FAO Schwarz and Toys R Us. As it turned out, underneath 250 pounds of super soldier, Steve was still a five year old at heart. They left the store with a large assortment of Legos, a few action figures, and a remote controlled helicopter. 

He wasn’t ready to see Brooklyn, not yet, but they went to a few other familiar places, and he told her stories about his adventures in the city as a young boy. They spend an hour on a park bench in Central Park, exploring Steve’s new phone, and then stop in to the Central Park Zoo. After, they walk down to a tiny deli on 57th, settling into a corner booth once their sandwiches are ready. 

Steve bit into his reuben, and made a sound that bordered on obscene. The way the blush spread across his face after, Amelia thought that he must have noticed. She just grinned.

“Been a while, then?” 

“Not since before I went to training. It’s good to know that some things haven’t changed, at least.” 

“Yeah. I moved from the city a couple years ago, but there are still a few things I miss.” 

“Did you grow up here?” 

“East Side; Rivington Street, only a few blocks from the bridge.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “That’s not far from where I grew up. Bucky used to have some girl he was sweet on over off Ludlow. So, why’d you leave the city?” 

She shrugged. “It was time for a change, a new beginning. And it’s not like I’m that far away. Two hours to Manhattan, three to DC.” 

“The quiet life.” 

She laughed at that. “Well, I’m still friends with Tony, so…” 

Steve smiled. “How does that work, being friends with someone like him?” 

“He’s practically family. The Tony Stark that the rest of the world knows, through public appearances and whatever, isn’t who he is at home. He’s just Tony.” 

“He’s lucky to have people who care enough to see the difference.” He looked down as he said it, and then back up, a bittersweet smile taking shape on his lips. “Even before, it was easier for people to see me as Captain America. Only the few people closest to me ever knew me as Steve from Brooklyn. I wake up, and I learn that they made all of these movies, and cartoons, comic books, trading cards… No one remembers me; they remember who they wanted me to be.” 

“Well, then consider this a chance to start over. Show people who you are now. But, and I know this from Tony, there’s something to be said for having a private life that you don’t let the public into.” 

“Once I have a private life, you mean? This is the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone not with SHIELD since I woke up. I don’t know anyone else.” 

“You’ll meet people. Just have to get out there.” 

“It’s hard sometimes. I never know if people want to be friends with Captain America or Steve Rogers. Captain America tends to draw a crowd. Trust me, not that many people were hanging around for Steve. Not the way I was.”

“I’ve seen the pictures. I thought you were cute.”

Steve grimaced into his drink. “That’s what every fella wants to hear.” 

She laughed. “Look, I know that we don’t really know each other, but from what I can tell, the serum changed this,” she rapped one knuckle against his closest shoulder, “but didn’t change this,” she did the same, this time over his heart. “The people who stick around just for the Captain are missing out on the good stuff, the stuff that matters. That’s their loss, not yours.” 

Steve met her gaze. “You really think so? Because I’m not so sure. Steve Rogers never had much to offer. If you had known me then---”

“This would be the same Steve Rogers who took on bullies in the back alleys of Brooklyn, even without his friend to back him up? The man who fought tooth and nail to join a war that, let’s be honest, before the transformation, would have killed him, all because he wanted to do the right thing? That’s the Steve Rogers that didn’t have anything to offer? I call bullshit.” 

Steve blinked, and then a tiny smile started to tug at his lips. The smile gave way to laughter, and that gave way to a few tears. “You know, Bucky told me almost the same exact thing once.” 

“Smart man, your Bucky.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you would have liked him.” 

***

After the deli, they started the walk back towards Stark Tower. Amelia ran back to her room long enough to grab her clothes from the day before--now clean, folded and waiting--and then started back down towards the elevator. Steve waited there by the door. 

“Can I walk you back to your vehicle?” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I have an hour before I have to meet the others. Plenty of time.” 

“Okay, then yes. I’d like that.” 

He smiled a bit, and reached out, grabbing her bag. His shopping bags were missing; likely tucked back inside his borrowed room. They traveled to the ground floor in silence, and then made their way outside and down the sidewalk. 

“I had fun today,” Steve said finally. 

“Me, too,” Amelia responded, smiling up at him. “Look, I’m due in DC a month from now for a government thing Tony has lined up. I’ll be there for a few days. We should meet up, if you're free. I might be able to clear up an afternoon.” 

“I’d like that.”

They stopped in front of her truck. Amelia dropped her bag into the space behind the driver’s seat, and turned to him. “This is me, then.” 

Steve nodded. “Thank you, for today and for talking last night.” 

“It was my pleasure, Steve. Thank you for lunch. And if you ever need anything, even just a friendly ear, my number is in your phone. Call anytime. I mean that.” 

He nods. “I will. Thank you. I’ll see you next time you’re in town?” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” She pushed up onto her toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Steve. The rest will come.” 

He gave her a quick hug, and then stepped back, watching as she climbed into her truck and drove away. One she was out of sight, he pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed his contacts, just the way she showed him. There’s only one entry. 

_Amelia Cassidy (Steve’s friend)_

He smiled a bit, and stuck the phone back into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: More Bucky, making breakfast, and a small break from reality. This chapter shouldn't take nearly as long to put together. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	6. Threats and Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up immediately after Amelia tells Bucky about meeting Steve. 
> 
> **Trigger Warning**  
>  This chapter contains a PTSD-style flashback, guns, blood, and (very brief) descriptions of violence and abuse. If any of these situations are a problem for you, and you'd like a modified version of this chapter, please message me, and I would be glad to edit it down for you. 
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, views, and comments. I appreciate each and every one of you. You're all amazing! 
> 
> And for my fellow American readers: Have a safe and happy holiday weekend!

Bucky sat in silence, working over Amelia’s story. He’s not sure what to take from it. Amelia is friends with Howard Stark’s git. Alright. He can buy that. Aliens are real, but he has a feeling that that’s not the weirdest thing he’s ever had to deal with. Steve out fighting the aliens, armed with nothing but a metal shield? Well, that might be worth a second look. 

“Did he call?” he asks, finally. 

“It took him a while, and we texted back and forth for a bit first, but yes. He didn’t have an easy time of it. Nightmares, flashbacks, depression on and off. It took a while for him to feel like he belonged anywhere. He joined SHIELD because he didn’t know what else to do, and because he wanted to do the right thing, continue to protect the world in the best way he could. But Hydra’s infiltration, finding out about you? He’s shaken up. It’s hard, when you spend all of that time thinking you’re doing the right thing, only to find out that you were playing for the wrong team almost the whole time.” 

Yeah, that he understands. _Your work has shaped the century...Give people the freedom they deserve…_ Instant Hydra assassin: just add amnesia and good intentions. “They told me that I was helping people, that my work was important,” he volunteers. 

Her face goes soft. “I imagine that they had to. Seventy years of their shit, and you still wanted to do the right thing. Do you have any idea how amazing that is? How amazing you are?” 

He looks away, brow furrowing. He doesn’t think that’s quite right. He is a deadly weapon, but outside of that, he doesn’t know what he is. The Asset? Something more? Not amazing, though. And it wasn’t enough to protect the people he killed under Hydra’s control. 

When he doesn’t respond, Amelia reaches out, squeezing his shoulder as she stands up and walks past. “I’m going to go figure out dinner.” 

***  
_5/28/2014_

_Amelia told me about meeting Steve today._

  * Aliens are real; there’s one on Steve’s new team
  * Steve took on said aliens with nothing but damn shield and luck. I feel like I should be pissed. Examine this later.
  * I am not Amelia’s first traumatized soldier from 1940. Turns out, she reached out to Steve, too. 
  * Steve struggled. Nightmares, flashbacks, trying to fit in… It helps, knowing that this didn’t come easily to him, either. 



_No new memories to record. Heard Steve’s voice today. Hurt. He still believes in me. WHY?? And what happens when he realizes that I’m not the same man he lost in 1945?_

***

Bucky catches a flash of movement from the bedroom window. There is someone in a sweatshirt and baseball cap slipping through the back gate. He drops the pen, and pulls the rifle out from beneath his bed, adding it to the two handguns he already has strapped to his person, and then rushes down the stairs. It’s only one person, at first glance (though he’s prepared for more). Slipping back into the Asset is easy; taking out the threat won’t be a problem. 

Amelia glances up from her magazine as he passes her on his way through the living room. “Bucky? What--” 

“Get somewhere safe. I’ll deal with this.” 

“Deal with what? Is that a gun? Bucky. Oh, shit. That is a gun. That is a big gun. Are you nuts?” She stands, following him towards the front door. 

He turns back, wasting precious seconds. “There’s someone in the yard. Get back.” 

She hesitates, but steps back, and ducks into the office. It’s not safe, but he should be able to keep her from getting shot, at least. The doorbell rings, and he strides forward, glancing out the side window. The agent is a middle-aged woman. She’s wearing slippers and yoga pants. Something in the back of his mind is setting off warning bells, but he ignores it. This woman is a threat. He lines up the shot.

“Amelia, are you there? Prim slipped out again, and I was wondering if--” 

Amelia came running out of the office. “Bucky, it’s fine! She’s my neighbor.” She goes pale at the sight of the gun in his hand, still pointed out the window, then shoos him back as she opens the door, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He tenses, gun still in hand, as Amelia talks to the older woman. A few minutes later, she’s back inside, slipping on her shoes. 

“I’m going out to help look for her cat. Dinner will be ready in about 20 minutes; I’ll be back by then. Are you okay?” 

“Not safe.” The neighbor is not a threat, but there could be other threats out there. She is safer here, where he can protect her. Fuck the cat.

“Me, you mean? Going to look for the cat?” 

“She could have been an agent.” She wasn’t, but the fact that people can just walk right up to the house, through the back yard even, is frustrating. Is she trying to get killed? Not acceptable. He’ll go out tonight and lay down a better security system. 

_(That voice in his head says no, that she is safe enough here with him, and that laying traps around the yard is too dangerous. He ignores it.)_

She pauses in tying her shoes and walks over to him. “Bucky, I’m okay. I’m safe, and I’ll only be a few minutes, okay? Primrose wanders off a couple times a month.” 

His hands tighten on the gun. “It’s not safe.” 

Amelia stops in front of him, nudging the gun aside just enough to wrap her arms around his neck, holding him carefully. “Thank you for protecting me, but I’ll be okay. I just need to know that you’re going to be alright here on your own.” 

He instinctively leans into her. The touch makes it easier to separate from the Asset, brings him back to center. He’d nearly shot her neighbor. Christ. 

“Bring your gun.” It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s better, and he can follow her movement from the upper windows, interfering if necessary. 

She nods. “Alright. And I promise to scream really loud if I need you.” 

He sighs, dropping his head down to hers, his cheek resting against her hair. “Be careful.” 

“I will be. Umm.. Maybe put the artillery away while I’m gone?” 

He shakes his head. “When you’re safe.” The Asset had that right; no way was she wandering the neighborhood unprotected.

Amelia nods, and steps back. “Fine. I’ll be back soon.” She lets go of him, finishes tying her shoes, grabs her gun from her bedroom, and slips out the door. Bucky grabs his guns and walks upstairs, finding a window that allows him a decent view of the neighborhood, setting up, his gaze seeking any sign of a threat. He watches as Amelia and her neighbor walk down the street, calling for the cat. The cat, a small calico, that is hiding in a tree, half a block away. He can see it through his scope. Amelia is the first of the two women to find it, shimmying up into the tree to bring it back down. As soon as the cat is back in its owner’s arms, Amelia waves and heads back towards the house. He waits until she is on the front porch before returning the weapons to their hiding places. 

She is waiting in the kitchen when he walks in. 

“Mrs. Bridgers is fifty-three years old. She teaches kindergarten at the local elementary school, and brings over a pie at least five times a year. We exchange cards and cookies for Christmas every december. She is not a threat.” Her voice is measured, soft, but he can sense that she is hiding emotion behind the careful tones. “We don’t shoot the neighbors, Bucky.” 

He tenses. He made an error, a serious one. He threatened someone she cares for. Whatever the punishment, he’ll submit willingly. Not like he’s ever had a choice before. 

“Not to mention, I know you didn’t have those guns on you that first night. Where on earth did they come from?” 

“I had a bag. Hid it in the bushes until you were sleeping.” 

“And now they’re hidden around the house?” 

“Allowing for optimal defense.” 

She swallows. Nods. “Okay. Okay, I can live with that. Just, double check with me before going all commando, okay?” 

He unsteadily gets to his knees, head bowed in submission. Amelia gasps softly. 

“Uh, whatcha doing, Bucky?” 

“Awaiting discipline.” 

“Awaiting--” She sounds ill. “I’m not-- Discipline for what?” 

He blinks. “I threatened your friend. I--” 

“No. No! Bucky, I’m not-- You made a mistake. It’s okay. You were trying to protect me. No one was hurt. Get up. Please, get up.” 

He complies, his eyes still centered on the floor. 

“Bucky?” 

He slowly lifts his head, just enough to glance at her. She is standing a few feet away, her hands squeezed tightly together before her. He doesn’t meet her gaze. She moves closer until she is standing before him. He notes how easily she moves within his space; he doesn’t remember the last time someone dared move this close without having a dozen weapons trained on him. But when she reaches for his hands, holding them tightly despite their larger size, he feels comfort, a warmth spreading from her hands to his chest. 

“It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you here. You’re safe, and I’m sure as hell not going to punish you.” 

He still can’t meet her eyes. She solves the problem by moving closer, until she is only inches away, looking up at him, her steady gaze seeking out his. She is not quite short enough, so their noses are practically touching. He shifts his gaze away again. 

He should have known better. This woman never acts as he expects. Upon seeing how close their faces are, she doesn’t step back, like anyone sensible would do. Instead, she presses up a bit on her toes, and carefully bumps her nose against his. 

Bucky’s gaze snaps to hers, eyes going wide. She does it again, a tiny smile playing on her lips. He just stares at her, incredulous, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach is starting to dissipate.

“That’s better. It’s okay, Bucky. We’re both learning as we go, here. We’re both going to make mistakes, but we’ll take it one day at a time. One minute at a time, if we have to. And if you mess up, I’m still going to be here, and there won’t be any punishment. Do you understand?”

He nods. 

“Bucky?” 

“I’m trying,” he admits quietly. Amelia squeezes his hands, and sets her head against his shoulder. 

“That’s all I can ask.” She releases his hands to wrap her arms around his waist, and he copies the gesture. She is warm and soft in his arms. His heart is beating so strongly that he thinks that there is no way she can’t feel it, even through their shirts. She doesn’t move away, so he doesn’t either, soaking up the affection like starving man being offered the first taste of food in far, far too long. 

They are interrupted by the ding of the kitchen timer. She steps back, and gives him a shaky little smile. “Hungry?” 

***

It wasn’t until after she washes the dishes that Amelia brings up the guns again. 

“I don’t care that they’re here, Bucky. I just want to know where they are, so I don’t reach in to get out a handful of chips and accidently blow my foot off.” 

He looks up from the tablet. He’s currently researching the major political events of the last 70 years; it’s starting to give him a stress headache. “You won’t. They all have the safety on.” Mostly. “And I didn’t hide any of them in the food.” Behind the pasta boxes, though, taped to the top of the shelf. 

She stays quiet, just watching him. After a moment, he huffs and stands, gesturing for her to follow. He starts in the kitchen, showing her the one near the pasta, the one taped beneath the silverware drawer, and the knife in the potted plant. She raises her eyebrows at that, but says nothing. He continues on to the entry hall (another knife, another gun), the living room (gun beneath the couch, behind the television, and a knife taped to the back of the bookcase), and the bathroom (knife beneath the back lid). Upstairs, there are three in his bedroom, one in hers, and one in the hallway. There is another knife in her bathroom, same position as the other one. And then he grabs the two guns and three knives he has strapped to his body in convenient places. 

“Bucky, that’s a lot of guns. How many agents are they actually going to send after you?” 

He shrugs, and feels the beginnings of a smirk tug at his lips. “Not enough.” 

***

2:04.

2:05.

2:06.

The clock in his room ticks by, each minute taking an hour as he stared at the glowing digital numbers in the dark. Anything to take his mind off of the dangerous turn of his thoughts. He’d almost killed someone today--an innocent woman. Amelia’s friend. Decades of training; he saw everyone as a likely threat. Potential Hydra agent sneaking through the back yard? A seven. Known neighbor, middle-aged and only moderately active? A Three. Armed Hydra operative, one trained to bring him in? A nine. There were very few perfect tens. Most people, by themselves, were not a total threat.

And Steve Rogers? He was an eleven. The potential for damage, not just the physical variety, was significantly higher than he’s ever faced before. 

He sets the thoughts of Rogers aside, circling back to his earlier mistake. Not only in nearly shooting Amelia’s neighbor.That was the least of his crimes. It had been so easy, too easy, to slip back into being the Asset. He’d thought he was doing better than that. To know that he is so close to losing control, to destroying anyone that is deemed a threat (or anyone who gets in the way), is terrifying. Today, it was Mrs. Bridgers. Tomorrow, it could be Amelia. 

He shudders, and curls deeper into the blankets, shutting down that line of thought. The Asset is capable of horrible things, but today, his only focus was to protect Amelia. She’s safe. 

Amelia is sleeping just a few steps down the hallway. It would take only moments to reach her room, go inside, and wait for her to wake up. He could slide into the bed beside her, and he didn’t think she’d object. It’s tempting, curling into her warmth and letting her sooth away his demons until he was finally able to sleep. 

But, no. She was already doing so much for him. Giving him a place to stay, clean clothes purchased just for him, food, companionship… And he could do nothing in return. Protect her from Hydra, maybe, but she was only in danger because he was here. They wouldn’t have looked twice at her before. 

But, maybe.. Maybe there is something he can do. 

***

Amelia wakes up to the smell of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. She rolls out of bed, throws her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, and slips on her robe, and goes to investigate. 

Bucky is standing over the stove, spatula in one hand and a plate of pancakes in the other. He adds another pancake to the pile, sets them aside, and then starts turning the bacon. 

“Wow. This is a nice surprise.” He turns and glances at her. She sees the circles under his eyes, darker than they had been the day before, and knows that he hasn’t slept again. His scruff--nearly a beard, now--hides half of his face, but beneath it, he looks pale. She tries to hide her concern, biting her tongue to stay silent. 

“Good morning. Everything is almost ready.” 

“Is there anything I can help with?” she offers, taking a look around. The kitchen is spotless, despite the amount of food being prepared. A cookbook is propped on the counter, the tablet nearby, screen paused on a cooking video. He is really putting a lot of effort into this. 

“I think I have everything.” 

“Can I set the table? All of this effort, I’d hate to waste it by eating in front of the television.” 

He nods his consent. By the time he’s bringing the food out, she has the table ready. Bucky sat down across from her, piling his plate high with pancakes. 

“So, I didn’t forget a special occasion, right?” Amelia teases. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. This is all amazing.” 

Bucky watches her put butter and syrup on her pancakes, and then copies her. “I wanted to be useful.” 

Her fork slows on the way to her mouth. “I’ll be honest; I’m not sure if that’s something I should be concerned about, the way you phrased that. You know that you don’t need to do anything to stay here, right? You’re meant to be recovering, not worrying about the housework.” 

He shrugs. “I want to. Helping gives me something to keep busy. I have to do something.” 

She held his gaze, searching for any sign that this is something more than that. Finally, she nods. “Alright. And, thank you.”

***

Amelia sits beside him on the couch while they watch the morning news. There’s nothing new; a murder in a nearby town, another terrorist attack somewhere across the world. A politician preaching about the evils of big government. The station cut to footage of the current war (somewhere in the Middle East, the details are still a bit sketchy), and he reaches for the remote, changing the channel. War footage makes his chest tight. Amelia glances over, but doesn’t say anything. He flips through the channels, settling finally on Looney Tunes. The tightness in his chest doesn’t fade, even as the hours start to tick by. He watches an hour of television, starts a new book, eats lunch, and then settles back on the couch with his notebook and pen. 

It happens in a heartbeat. He is walking back from the bathroom when there is a loud clatter from the kitchen. Later, Amelia will tell him that she dropped a few sheet trays. 

One minute he is in the hallway. The next, he is somewhere in Kievskoe, a tiny town just inside of Kazakhstan searching a dilapidated safe house for his target, the leader of an opposing Russian political faction. He’s spent the last four days tracking him, and there was no place left for him to run. Except, there are unexpected hostiles. He ducks behind what remains of an inner wall, breathing hard, exchanging one gun for the other. He has another ten hours to complete this mission and return to the pick-up spot. Failure will not be tolerated. 

He hears a noise to his left, and turns, but nothing is there. Still, he readies himself, grip tight on his gun. He doesn’t have quite enough ammunition for everyone, but it didn’t matter. He was a weapon in his own right. 

Except, things aren’t going to plan. He stands up, and turns to the nearest hostile, a young man with light skin and blond hair. He’s small for his age, his size giving a frailty to his look. And at once, his face shifts, features becoming more angular, eyes bigger and more blue. The Asset stumbles, his gun slipping. 

That’s all it takes. 

He feels the sting of the bullet before he hears the sharp crack of the gun. It enters somewhere above his heart, and suddenly, it hurts to breath. He snaps his gun back to where it belongs. A clean headshot, and the boy is leaking blood and brain into the dirty floorboards. His face is wet, and it takes a moment to realize that it isn’t blood running down his cheeks. Strange. 

His breath is coming in sharp, panicked gasps, and his heart is pounding too fast, each pump pushing more blood to the surface. He falls back behind the wall again. He presses a hand to his chest, trying to stem the flow from the bullet wound. His mission is not complete. Failure is not an option. 

_“Bucky.”_ He can hear a woman’s voice, distant at first, but then steadily growing louder and clearer. _“Bucky, can you hear me?”_ The voice is familiar, but he can’t explain how he might know it. He blinks, and suddenly, there is a woman kneeling several feet in front of him. 

“Bucky, can you hear me?” She looks at him, expecting a response. Is he Bucky? Or maybe she has him confused with someone, but she’s looking right at him. He nods. 

“It’s 2014. You’re in my living room in Pennsylvania, in the United States. You’re safe. I dropped some pans; I think that triggered a flashback. You’re okay. You’re safe here with me.”

Her voice is kind, eyes concerned. When he focuses, the woman becomes easier to see. She might be a hostile, but she isn’t armed. And she isn’t one of his handlers. “Why are you here? Who are you?” 

“My name is Amelia. We’re friends. You’re in my home, in Pennsylvania. You’re currently sitting behind my couch.” 

The safehouse begins to fade, the details getting fuzzy around the edges. He can still hear the hostiles coming up on him, but it sounds further away now. He blinks, and he can see a small home start to come into focus around him. His body armor is replaced with jeans and a tshirt, and a quick look reveals that the wound in his chest is gone without a mark. His breath hitches in his throat, the struggle to breath still present, even if the gun shot wound in his chest is gone. Why can’t he breathe?  
“Bucky, you’re okay. It’s safe.” 

Somehow, he doesn’t think so. The air feels used up, stale. There’s not enough oxygen left. His gaze darts around the home until he sees a hallway, with a door at the end of it. He pushes unsteadily to his feet, and rushes out, landing on his knees in the grass. He breathes, but his lungs aren’t working right. The earth tilts, and he drops his hands to the ground, grasping the dirt as he vomits into the grass. 

“Bucky?” 

He hears Amelia’s voice behind him. 

“‘m okay.” 

She kneels down a few feet away, and hands him a bottle of water. He shuffles away from the mess, rocking back onto his heels, water bottle in hand. It’s cold; the sensation helps to ground him enough that he can look around and recognize that they’re in her backyard. 

“Is there anything you need?” she asks. 

“What-- What happened?” 

“I was taking care of the dishes, and dropped a couple pans. The next thing I know, you’re crouched behind my couch. I think you had a flashback. Like a memory almost, except it might have felt like you were actually there.” 

He nods. “Yeah. That’s-- ” He breaks off, shaking his head. Bucky opens the bottle of water and takes a long drink, spilling it half of it down the front of his shirt. What he does get down nearly chokes him, his lungs still barely accepting air, but apparently having no problems with sucking down water. He coughs until he vomits again. 

Amelia’s hands find his back, gently rubbing. “Easy, Bucky. Breathe nice and slow, alright? You’re going to be okay.” 

He moves closer to her. There is so much he doesn’t understand, and the only thing that matters is that he is safe with her. She keeps up the steady pressure against his back, moving to accommodate him as he presses against her side. He’s cold, he’s scared, and he just wants to be safe again. 

“Bucky, how can I help?” 

“It’s cold.” 

“Do you want to go back inside?” 

He shakes his head. Amelia is silent a moment. “There’s a swing over by the back fence. I can run in and grab some blankets.” 

He nods, and she stands, then holds her hand to help him to his feet. He puts his arm around her shoulders, and she slips her arm around his waist. He leans into her just a tiny bit, and she moves them towards the swing, setting him down on one end. 

“You’ll be okay for just a moment?” 

He nods, pulling his legs up to his chest as he watches her run back to the home. The moon is just starting to peek over the horizon, and the sky is going dark. It takes only a minute for her to return, a pile of blankets in her arms. She sets them down beside him, save one.

“What’s going to be the most comfortable for you?” She tucks the blanket around him as she speaks. It’s the warmest in the pile, and he burrows into it gratefully. He just wants to be close to her. He shoves the blankets aside, and looks up at her. She nods and sits beside him. He curls into her, his head resting on her lap. She spreads another blanket over him and he reaches up, grabbing one hand in his, and tugging it down over his chest, holding it there. 

He remembers this, remembers the last time they lay like this, after his last break. Except… “Like before,” he says softly, nudging his head back. She starts running her hands through his hair. 

“This?” 

He nods, shifting until he is more comfortable. His mind turns over the flashback. The young soldier, the one who shot him, he understood. It was Steve that he saw in the man’s face, the split second when memory bled through to reality, leaving him shaking and vulnerable. Even then, all it took was a hint of Steve to start to break his conditioning. He managed to finish the mission, but his handlers had to send in a team to retrieve him after he passed out from blood loss. All because he let the gun dip. Even if he was able to complete the mission, he struggled. Everything felt wrong, and he didn’t understand why. 

But it was the same thing he felt the first time he saw Steve standing in the middle of the highway in DC, like there was something not right, even if he didn’t understand what that something was. When Steve called his name, the sensation got stronger. 

He hadn’t felt right since. He missed the surety of the Soldier, the simplicity of it all. Life was more complicated, now that he was free from Hydra’s control. He felt lost and confused, his emotions wouldn’t settle, swinging back and forth between numbness and fear and sadness. He either felt too little or he felt too much. 

But this, here, settled against Amelia, her hand in his, he didn’t care if life after Hydra was confusing and scary. He wasn’t alone. He had someone who cared that he had enough to eat and whether or not he was sleeping. That was more than he ever thought he’d have, more than he ever thought he deserved. 

He isn’t ready to contact Steve. His feelings surrounding the man with blue eyes are complicated. He’s read everything on Bucky Barnes he could find, and he has a good idea who Steve is actually looking for. Problem is, he doesn’t think he’s that man anymore. The Bucky Barnes that Steve saw on the bridge, the not-man who tried so hard to kill him, isn’t the same Bucky Barnes that use to pull Steve Rogers from back-alley fights. He’s not the same man who joined the Army (to be honest, Bucky has his doubts there, but all of the sources he can find say that he enlisted voluntarily). And he’s not entirely sure that Steve Rogers really wants a broken assassin with a long list of crimes attributed to his name. His hands are dripping with blood. He isn't the sort of man Captain America would spend time with, unless it was to escort him to a holding cell in the bottom of some government testing facility. 

But that isn't what scares him. Testing and a prison cell? That’s an improvement over the last 70 years. What terrifies him is that, after promising his friendship, Steve might walk away if he learns who Bucky really is now, and no one could blame him. Easy to pledge loyalty to the ghost of your best friend; another thing entirely to pledge that same loyalty to the broken monster who has taken his place. 

And right now, Bucky isn’t strong enough to handle that rejection. So he waits, and he says nothing about contacting Steve, knowing that Amelia won’t push the issue. Not yet, at least. He just needs enough time to figure out what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop a comment below! I'd love to hear from you. :)


	7. Finding Himself and Dreaming of the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just want to send out a huge Thank You to everyone who has taken the time to comment, leave kudos, subscribe to, and read Broken Chances. I appreciate you all taking a few minutes out of your day to read this. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Timelines and Birthday Parties:**
> 
>  
> 
> On July 4th (Steve's birthday), I took a day off from writing this chapter, jumped ahead, and wrote about his birthday party, and what happens in the hours leading up to it. 
> 
> The Triskelion fell on April 4th, according to the MCU timeline. This chapter ends on April 28th. Steve's birthday is just over two months away. The reunion is only a few weeks off, and I promise, Steve will have his best friend at the party Tony's going to throw for him. 
> 
> We're going to see a lot more of Steve starting in this chapter, and some more Tony starting in the next. The big reunion is still a few chapters off, but it's coming! The wheels are set in motion in this chapter. and we're about to see a little more action. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Only the mistakes and Amelia are mine. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

There is a picture on the mantle in the living room. A young Amelia, long hair in twin braids, stares at the camera, a goofy smile on her face. Her mother and father bracket her from either side, each with an arm around her. There are mountains in the background. It’s one of the very few personal pictures she has displayed. 

It’s Friday. He’s been here for a week now, and they’ve fallen into an easy routine. Three meals, eaten together either in the dining room or in front of the television. She works in the mornings, and in the afternoon, she helps him catch up on the missing 70 years of his life, or they watch movies, or play games. He’s used to her companionship, and is starting to feel more comfortable in her presence. But he still knows next to nothing about her life before he knocked on her door. Her parents are dead. She grew up in New York. He knows that she is friends with Tony, and he knows how she met Steve.

He remembers more about his own past than he knows about hers. And if he’s honest, he’s curious. He has a few vague memories of a woman that he thinks might be his mother, and a little girl with curly hair, dark like his, that might have been his sister. He knows that all he has to do is look it up. There might even be pictures somewhere. 

But he can’t. He doesn’t want to know, not yet. Seems unfair to lose his family before he remembers them again. He’s spent the last three weeks avoiding any mention of them in the research he's done about himself. 

He doesn’t have any memories of being a part of a family. He doesn’t remember watching his mom move around the kitchen as she tidied up after dinner, or playing with his sister after school. He didn’t remember if he even had a dad. But Amelia? She has those memories. And maybe if he heard some of hers, he could fill in some gaps, maybe feel a little more grounded. So Bucky grabs the photograph, and heads towards the hallway.

He finds her in her office, holo screens up on either side and in front of her. That technology took some getting used to. Amelia swears that it isn't common in most households; hers was a gift from Tony for the days she works from home. He doesn’t quite understand what she does, but knows it has something to do with green energy (he doesn’t entirely understand that, either, but knows it’s important. Also, Amelia got really excited trying to explain it to him.), and that she works for Tony through a business firm downtown somewhere. It doesn’t make sense, but he pretends that it does. 

Amelia stands in the middle of the holographic screens, flicking things from one side to the other, only pausing to type on the keyboard (also holographic) on the table before her. He watches for a moment, taking in the sure way that she moves and the little crease of concentration between her eyebrows. She pulls up two new files, tossing them each up on their own screen, and uses a finger to highlight select strings of text. Another glide of her hand, and the text is copied over to the document on the third screen. 

“Come on in, Bucky. I’m nearly done here.” 

He hadn’t realized she’s seen him, a disconcerting thought. He moves into the center of the room, the framed photograph in hand, but tucked out of sight behind his thigh. “What are you working on?” 

“The report I promised Tony when we talked Monday. I’m just adding in the final statistics. What’s up?” 

He pulls the photo out from behind him, glancing down at it one last time before holding it out. “Would you tell me about them?"

She stills, and he can see the tension in the careful way she straightens her shoulders. He immediately regrets the question. This would be painful for her. Of course it would be painful. What was he thinking? “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’ll just--” He turns, heading for the door.

“Bucky, wait.” Her voice is tight. He stops, and turns to face her. Amelia is watching him, her expression unreadable. 

“What-- If you don’t mind me asking, what brought this on?” 

“I had a family, right? Before the war?” She nods. “I thinks, sometimes, I remember things, little things, not even full memories. Impressions, maybe. I know that I loved them. But they’d all be dead now. I’m all that’s left.” 

“We can look them up, if you’d like to know,” Amelia offers. 

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t think-- I can’t.” 

“Alright.” She slowly makes her way over. “But, you want to know about mine?” 

She doesn’t understand. He’s not certain that he understands, either, and he knows that he can’t explain it. “Is that-- Is it okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.” She takes a breath, lets it out slowly. “Follow me.” 

He follows her up to her bedroom, and she directs him to sit on the bed while she reaches into the closet. She comes back out with a medium-sized cardboard box, sliding it over to the space on the floor before him. 

“I told you it’s just me, now, remember?” He nods. “They died when I was sixteen. A lot of our household stuff got lost along the way, but this is what I have left.” She sits down beside him, and reaches into the box, pulling out a couple of blankets. “These were from when I was a child. I was attached to them.” She shrugs a little self-consciously, and sets them aside.

Bucky looks into the box; there are a few well-worn books, a stuffed animal, and a couple of photo albums. There are also a few framed pictures. Amelia held out the picture from the mantle first. 

“This is us. Dad was an investment banker, Mom was a business analyst for a firm in midtown. We had a two bedroom condo with our dog, Gepetto. Actually,” she reaches over, pulling out one of the albums and flipping through it until she landed on a photo of a wiry looking small dog. “He was a mutt, but we think he was at least half terrier. Dad grew up on Long Island, Mom grew up in Georgia. Neither of them had any close family left, with the exception of my dad’s half brother and his son, and we didn’t see them very often, so I didn’t get the big family get-togethers my friends had, but I never minded. We were all we needed.” 

She reaches down into the box, pulling out another framed photograph. This one shows her dad sitting on a stool, guitar in hand. Amelia, no older than sixteen, sat behind a piano, fingers on the keys. She runs her fingers over the glass, brushing away a thin layer of dust. “This was taken only a week before.” 

“You play piano?” 

She nods. “Not very often anymore, though. I always thought I’d learn guitar, too, but it never quite happened. I took a few lessons, but with everything that happened…” She breaks off, and shrugs. The gesture is a bit too forced to come off as natural. “And then the guitar got lost in everything after, so I never had the chance to go back to it.” 

“What happened?”

She swallows, and looks down, her fingers fidgeting along the edge of the frame. “There was a plane crash. I was hurt, but I survived. They died instantly.” 

He reaches out, movement hesitant, and sets his hand over hers. She turns her palm, lacing their fingers together, and then sets her head against his shoulder. “Sorry. I don’t talk about this very often.” 

“You miss them.”

“All the time. It never really goes away, you know?” 

He doesn’t, not really, but he nods, and lets her lean against him. The photo album is still positioned between them, so he starts turning pages. There are halloween costumes, Christmas trees, first days of school, picnics, birthday parties, and all of the days in between. The moments that make up a life. 

And he doesn’t have any of this. 

He stops on a page that has a picture of Amelia, early-teens, sitting beside a friend on a carnival ride. The girls have their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, laughing as they pause for the camera. And he sees a flash of a memory. Steve, a smaller version of him, sits beside him, hands gripped tightly to the wood of the seat in front of them. 

_“Do we really have to do this?”_

_“Relax. It’ll be fine. Jimmy said he went on it five times last weekend, and it’s not nearly as bad as it looks.”_ He barely recognizes his own voice. It sounds louder, the vowels wider than his current speech patterns. He sounds confident and happy. 

Bucky doesn’t remember what that feels like, but he really, really wishes he did.

“Steve and I went to a fair once. There was a ride; he didn’t want to go on it.” 

Amelia glances up. “Coney Island, probably. He said you two used to go there a couple times a year, whenever you could get up the money for it.” 

That sounds right. “I think he got sick.” He has a very clear flash of cleaning grape soda-colored vomit off of his boots, while Steve refused to apologize. _“It was your fault, Buck.”_

She laughs. “The Cyclone. It’s a rollercoaster, and yeah, if that’s what the memory was, you talked him into riding, and they had to stop the ride for a while after to wash out the seats.” 

He can’t stop the small huff of amusement. “Does he still get sick riding it?” 

Amelia sobered. “Don’t know. He hasn’t gone back. We’ve talked about it once or twice, but he said it wouldn’t feel right without you.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just flips another page in the photo album. A long moment passes before Amelia speaks again. 

“Once you’re ready, we should go. The three of us, I mean. I’ve never been before, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go with my first time there.” 

He wants to dismiss the idea outright, but he can’t. It sounds nice. Maybe the kind of nice he doesn’t get to have anymore, but if he could, if he dared envision a future where he didn’t end up locked up somewhere, then yeah. Maybe he would go to Coney Island with his best friend again, and they’d bring Amelia along, and show her how people had a good time 70-plus years ago. Maybe he’d even get Steve on the Cyclone again.

It sounds nice, but it isn’t going to happen. Still… “I think I’d like that.” The words nearly get stuck on the lump in his throat, but Amelia squeezes his hand, and settles her head back onto his shoulder, and maybe it doesn’t seem quite as impossible.

***

His thoughts are going fuzzy again. Sleep is a shifting target that he can’t quite seem to take a hold of, slipping from his grasp as soon as he gets close. When he does sleep, it’s to wake with his heart pounding, screaming into his pillows. Doesn’t matter that Amelia said to come to her; she’s already doing too much. He can handle it. 

It’s well past midnight, and he’s in the middle of a Candy Crush level when he hears a crash and a muffled curse from Amelia’s room. He’s up and out the door in seconds, heart pounding in his chest. He throws open the door, ready to face whatever assailant awaits him. 

What he finds is Amelia lying on the floor beside her bed, one leg still tangled in sheets and stuck halfway on the mattress. She blinks, and hastily wipes at her eyes. “Bucky?” 

He doesn’t miss the slight tremor in her voice or the dampness on her cheeks. 

“What are you doing on the floor, doll?” he asks, coming over to help free her leg from the sheet. Once she's freed, he holds out his metal hand without thinking, and she doesn't hesitate to accept it, letting him pull her to her feet.

“Must have got too close to the edge. I’m fine.” She takes a step towards the bed, and he sees the back of her head, super soldier vision easily catching the dark wetness spreading through her hair. 

“You’re bleeding,” he tells her, grabbing her by the shoulders and helping her sit before reaching over and turning on the light. He moves around behind her, gently parting her hair so he can get a better look. The cut isn’t deep, but it’s long, and the skin around it is bruised. She must have hit her head on the nightstand as she fell. 

“Don’t move.” He gets up and goes into her bedroom, grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the sink. He’s already digging into it as he returns to the bed, pulling out antiseptic cloths and some gauze. He climbs back onto the bed behind her. “The blood is already clotting. It’s not bad.” 

“Bucky, I’m sure it doesn’t need-- Ow!” She jerks away as he presses an alcohol swab against the wound. 

He captures her shoulder with one hand, and presses her back into place. “Don’t move.” 

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbles. He keeps his hand on her shoulder, keeping her still, and cleans out the wound, despite her little hisses of pain every time he brushes against the torn skin. There’s no good way to fasten a bandage to the area, and it’s just barely bleeding now, so he leaves it uncovered.

“There. Done.” He scoots off the bed, and throws the trash into the waste basket beside her bed. Her eyes are still a little red. Whatever dream she was living through as she fell off the bed, it wasn’t a good one. He watches her, taking in every detail, assessing. And then, he sat back down at her side. 

“Lie down.” 

“Bucky, I’m fine. Really.” 

“You could have a concussion. I’m staying.” She doesn’t have a concussion, but she’ll agree to that before she agrees to ‘I know you had a nightmare, so I’m staying’. He knows what it’s like to lie alone with nothing but nightmares to keep you company. He doesn’t want her that for her, not if he can help. She rolls her eyes, and lies back down, facing him. Her tears have dried, and her smile is somewhat exasperated when she asks him to turn off the light. He does, then stretches out beside her, staring up at the ceiling as he waits for her to fall asleep. 

The movements to care for her came easily, like his muscles remembered exactly what to do, even if his mind didn’t. Another small piece of who he was slipping back into place? He makes a mental note to add it to his journal. The pages are slowly filling up, tiny pieces of his past mixed with day-to-day reports and any information deemed important enough to be included. It’s the start of who he is now, each word testament to the fact that Hydra didn’t destroy everything, that he was strong enough to survive, and that he’s strong enough now to keep surviving. 

Amelia reaches over, taking his hand as she falls back to sleep. He turns towards her, and presses their hands against his heart, holding her to him as he watches her chest rise and fall with each breath. The gentle rhythm is soothing, and it doesn’t take long for his eyes to drift closed. 

***

Bucky wakes up sobbing. He shoves his face into his pillow, hoping it’s enough to muffle the cries, but he feels Amelia’s hand on his back, and he remembers that he’s not in his room. He’s in hers, and there is no hiding this from her.

“Bucky?” 

When he can’t respond, she slips her arm over him, pressing her body against him and holding tightly. Something deep in his chest spasms, and he pushes her off, scrambling from the bed like it’s on fire.

“Don’t. Just-- don’t touch me. Please.” He chokes the words out as the room around him starts to spin.

She sits up, and nods. “Alright. Sorry. Is there anything I can do?” 

He shakes his head, backing up to the wall, leaning back for support. Anything to stop the spinning. All he can do right now to keep standing and not throw up all over her carpet. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ God, he can’t do this anymore. He just can’t. 

“I have to go. I have to--” No, that’s not enough. Running free, he could still lose control, could still hurt people. The wrong people. Christ. And to think only a few hours ago, he thought he might have a future, something to look forward to besides a cage, deep underground. He shakes his head, starting again. “Call Steve. Tell him.. Tell him thick steel walls. Iron bars on the door. Somewhere I can’t escape from. Please.” 

He collapses, sliding down the wall, curling in on himself. He sees Amelia kneel down only a few feet away, and he tries to scramble even further back against the wall. “Stay back!” 

She quickly moves back a few more feet before sitting down, legs crossed in front of her, watching him in silence. “If you want me to call Steve for you, I will. But I don’t think he’s going to lock you up, not without a really good reason.” 

“I killed him. The car. I caused the accident.” Breathe. _Breathe._ Don’t get sick.

“Killed who, Bucky?” 

“He’s going to hate me. They were friends. And I--” He breaks off, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat. 

He sees the moment Amelia figures it out. “Howard.” 

He curls up tighter into himself. She’s friends with Steve and Tony both. Of course. Of course she’s heard about Stark. He flinches. 

“Bucky, that wasn’t your fault. What they made you do, it wasn’t your fault.” 

She has no idea. Stark recognized him, at the last moment. When he survived the crash, when Bucky found him, trying to crawl out of the wreckage at the bottom of the cliff. The older man looked up at him, eyes wide in pain and disbelief. 

_“Barnes?”_

The Asset looked into his face, feeling nothing as he put a bullet into the man’s forehead, pushed his body back into the car, and set the tiny explosive. By the time the authorities reached the scene, the bodies would be nothing but ash. 

“Bucky, look at me.” Her voice is calm. He forces himself to meet her gaze. “You were acting under Hydra’s orders. No one is going to blame you for what happened.” 

“You don’t understand!” 

“Then help me. Help me to understand.” 

“I knew him. I knew him, and I didn’t even hesitate! Don’t you get it? If I could do it to him--” he breaks off, breathing hard. He can’t say it. Can’t give voice to the words choking at his throat. 

“Then you could do it to us, too,” she finishes softly. 

He nods. “I don’t-- I don’t want that. If Steve locks me up, you’ll be safe. And with what I’ve done, with what I did to Stark, it won’t be hard for him to rationalize it. Everyone is safer if I’m not able to get close enough to hurt you.” 

Amelia rubs a hand down her face. “This isn’t just Howard, is it?” 

“I keep remembering things. Not good things. Things I don’t want to know. It’s never my family, almost never Steve.” 

She nods. “Bruce thought that might be the case, that the more recent stuff might be the first to come back.” 

“The Hulk?” The disbelief on his face almost makes her smile. 

“Yeah, but he’s also a brilliant biochemist, amongst other things, and Steve asked him to look at your file.” 

“What did he say?” He settles back, his arms around his knees. 

“Well, granted, he only had the one file, but between his understanding of the serum and what was in the file, he thinks that there is a very good chance you’ll get most of your memories back. Your brain is healing at an exceptional pace, but the amount of trauma you sustained… it’s going to take time. What you remember now isn’t the sum of all you are. And I can’t fill in those gaps, not really, but I know someone who can.” 

“Steve.” 

“Steve. He’s worried, you know? And if anyone can help you work through everything, it’s him.” 

Bucky shook his head. “Not yet. Not until I…” Not until what? At what point would he feel it was safe to contact Captain America and tell him where he was? “Not until I know who I am.” Not until he’s safe.

Amelia nods. “Okay. Just, not too long, okay? He’s worried, and I hate lying to him, especially about this.” 

“You’ve talked to him?” 

“Every night, before I go to bed. We text back and forth, sometimes call.”

“Is he okay?” 

Amelia shrugs. “He’s worried, but doing all right.” He can tell there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t volunteer, so he doesn’t pry. 

“Can I come closer?” Bucky nods, and she moves forward until only four feet separating them. And then she holds out her hand. 

He stares at it, reaching out towards him. Close enough to touch, but too far away to reach out him by herself. The offered hand feels like more than just an invitation to come out of the corner. It feels like everything. Heart pounding, and with his fingers trembling, he stretches out his arm, fingers tightening around hers, and she tugs him away from the wall. He collapses at her side, her arms wrapping tightly around him. Amelia doesn’t say anything, not at first, just holds him, his face pressed against her neck. He’s shivering, even in the heat of the bedroom. 

“Come on, back to bed,” she says after a few minutes. He stands, and pulls him up after him, not releasing her hand as he climbs back into the bed. She lays down next to him, turning her back to him, and pulling his arm around her. He tenses. What is she doing? He just admitted to killing her friend’s dad, and she is curling up beside him like he’s safe. 

She runs her thumb over the back of his hand. “Okay?” 

He nods, and slowly inches forward, until her back is pressed to his chest. She shifts her head, until it rests against his metal arm. Covered in a thick blanket that smells like Amelia, with her resting in his arms, the cold starts to fade. His thoughts, however, are still racing. She treats him like he’s safe, like he’s more human than weapon. 

He knows better. And it’s only a matter of time before she realizes it, too. 

What will happen to him then?

***

Saturday, he tries really, really hard to act like everything is okay, like he’s not waiting for her to find a way to send him away. Like he’s not waiting to mess up, to give her a reason. 

Maybe he should. He’d be gone, and she’d be safe. He could do that, for her, he thinks. Or maybe he’ll gather enough courage to approach Steve, tell him everything he’s done, and hope the man has enough mercy to put a bullet in his head, rather than leave him to rot in a laboratory somewhere for the rest of his life.

He wakes up Sunday morning to the sound of music. The other half of the bed is empty, the pillow cold, even though the clock only reads 7:24. Ever since the other night, Amelia has insisted on him staying in with her. He’s sleeping again, at least for a few hours, and it’s helping. He pushes up, and listens. The music isn’t something he recognizes, but it’s upbeat and cheerful sounding. 

If there is anything that serves as a constant reminder that he’s no longer in the 1940s, it’s the music. He doesn’t remember music from his own time (Amelia played him a few of Steve’s favorites, and nothing sounded familiar), but he finds the current trends jaring. This, whatever she was listening to, wasn’t proving to be an exception. 

He brushed his teeth and tied his hair back, eyes resolutely avoiding the mirror, then wandered down stairs. She’s in the living room, moping around the furniture, moving to the music as she goes. He can smell baked cinnamon and sugar from the kitchen. How long has she been awake? 

She turns and sees him, a grin splitting her features. “Morning. There are cinnamon rolls cooling in the kitchen; help yourself.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s Sunday. I’m cleaning.” 

“Yeah, I see. Is this a thing?” She’s started up her regular schedule again, in anticipation of going back to work tomorrow. Saturday night pizza-and-movie is a thing, too. 

“It is. Doesn’t take me long, though. I’ll be done before lunch. Go ahead and get something to eat. I’ll move upstairs in another few minutes, and you’ll have the downstairs to yourself for a bit.”

She shoos him away, so he heads for the kitchen.The cinnamon rolls are sitting on the stove, frosted and untouched. He puts one on a plate and then took out a second plate, and placed one on that one, too. He pours two cups of coffee, makes hers the way she likes it, and brings it all out to the table. 

“You haven’t eaten yet,” he says, stopping just inside the doorway. 

She looks over. “No, I was trying to get all of this done first. I can eat later.”

He just stared at her. This felt like familiar territory. “You’ll eat now.” 

“I’m nearly done here, and then--” 

He lifts an eyebrow. “Good. Then you’ll still be nearly done after you eat something. Come on, keep me company.” 

She sighs, giving in like he knew she would and following him into the dining room and taking the seat opposite his. She takes a sip of her coffee, but he goes right for the cinnamon roll. It’s gooey and sweet, and still just a little bit warm. 

“These are a Sunday morning thing too?” he asks, slicing off another bite. 

“They can be.” She takes a bite, smiling with dab of frosting on her top lip. He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, he feels normal. And then he catches a glimpse of the morning light shining off his arm, and it’s gone. 

“I was thinking, this afternoon, if you’re interested, we could go for a bit of a drive. There’s a tiny little city about an hour from here and--”

“No.” 

She glances up. “Are you sure? We could go to a bookstore or something, and maybe have a picnic dinner.” 

He shakes his head. “Hydra is everywhere. And I don’t think I’m up for crowds.” Too dangerous. If he slips, if he goes Soldier, people would die. “I thought maybe, well, there’s a drawing app on the tablet. I kind of wanted to check it out.” 

“Alright. I think I have a stylus, it’s like a little pen, somewhere, if you want to try that. And if you’re interested, there’s a small art store in town. Let me know what you need, and I can get it this afternoon.” 

“Paper and a pencil is really all I need. I don’t even remember if I was any good.” 

“Well, let’s find out.” She smiles, and he gives her a tiny smile in return.

***

Amelia has gone art shopping with Steve before. They’ve gone to a couple of the larger stores in Manhattan, but his favorite is this tiny little shop down in Chinatown. They sell these rare French pencils that he used to use overseas in the 40s, the only place in all of New York that carries them.

The local store doesn’t carry those, but they have just about everything else. Aisles and aisles of it. Given the size of the place, she’s a bit lost when she walks through the front door, and it’s not like she can call up Steve and ask for advice. So, she asks the store’s owner, and leaves with a collection of pencils, a few different pads, a box of colored pencils, a sharpener, an eraser, and a half dozen other little miscellaneous things that looked interesting. At the grocery store, she grabbed Bucky a couple of new books, a few varieties of sandwich meat, more Ben and Jerry’s (Bucky, it seems, has developed a Ben and Jerry’s problem. Steve may never forgive her.), and everything she needed to make brownies. 

Bucky comes downstairs as soon as she walks in the front door. She sets the groceries down in the kitchen, shoves the ice cream into the freezer, and hands him the bag from the art supply store, books tossed in for good measure. He looks in the bag, and his eyebrows reach halfway to his hairline. “This is more than just paper and a couple of pencils,” he comments.

“I wasn’t really sure what to get, so the owner helped.” 

“Thanks. Do you mind if I--” he gestures back towards the stairs. 

“No, go ahead. I’m going to throw dinner in, and curl up with a book for a bit.” 

He nods, flashes her a shy little smile, and heads back to his room, art supplies in hand. The tiny smiles are becoming more common, and she treasures each one. 

***

Bucky comes back downstairs after a half hour, joining her on the couch. She’s curled up under a light blanket, stretched across the cushions, when he tugs the blanket up, lifts her feet, and sits down, replacing her feet and the blanket onto his lap once he’s settled. Amelia tries to pull her feet back, giving him more space, but he sets his metal arm lightly across her legs. 

“Stay.” 

She stretches back out, and goes back to her book. It’s another hour before either of them stir. Finally, Bucky sets down his pencil, and stares at the image on his page. 

“How’d it turn out?” she asks, looking up from her reading.

He turns the page around, revealing a picture of a dark haired woman wearing a 40s-style dress. The features of her face are a bit vague, and she can see where he erased the same area over and over, trying to get the details just right. 

Bucky is, in fact, very good. His pictures are nothing like Steve’s, his style softer than Steve’s hard edges, but for someone who hasn’t touched a drawing pad in seventy years, this first hesitant sketch is amazing.

“I remember her, but I don’t know if it’s right. Something is still wrong, and I don’t know what.” 

“This is your mom?” 

Bucky nods. “I think so.”

“It’s good.” 

He shrugs, and looks back down to the picture, fiddling around with some of the details again. Amelia pokes him in the thigh with her toe, and he glances back up. She smiles and goes back to her book, watching through her eyelashes as he shakes his head, almost smiling as he goes back to his drawing.

***

“I have something for you,” Amelia says the next morning, tossing a small box towards Bucky. He catches it in one hand, and pries up the top. It was the current version of the Stark phone, and hers before she got the beta upgrade a few months ago to a new high-endurance, high-tech design created specifically for the Avengers team. 

“A phone?” 

“In case you decide to go out or something, and need to get ahold of me. I think it also has some games and stuff on there, and I can help you add in more this evening, if you want.” 

He pulls it out and turns it on. 

“It’s activated. Your number is on the fridge, mine is in the contacts. I also programmed Steve’s and Tony's’ numbers in.” 

He looks up sharply, saying nothing, but she can read the disbelief and hurt and anger in his face.

“Bucky, I’m not asking you to call them up and chat. I’m not going to be here during the day, and I’d feel better knowing that your emergency contact list was longer than just one person. If anything happens, you call one of them, you tell them who you are and where you are, and they’ll get you help.”

“If anything happens, I won’t need their assistance.” He is all but glowering at her. This is the look that scared dozens of targets and anyone that got in his way over the last 70 years. She’s fighting to not be intimidated. 

“Then just carry the phone around for my piece of mind. I’m going to worry. I need to know that you’re safe. Please.” 

He sighs and slips it into his pocket. “Fine.” 

“Thank you. Keep it charged, and keep it on you. I’ll call during my breaks, and you can call me anytime. In fact, please do.” 

“I’ll be fine, Amelia.” 

She looks at him, startled. 

“What?”

“You’ve never used my name before.”

“Is-- Is it okay?” 

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I was starting to think you never would.”

He shakes his head, returns the smile. It looks forced. “You’re going to be late.

Amelia glances at the clock on the wall. “Crap. Okay. I’ll be back home a bit after 5:00, and I’ll bring dinner with me. There’s food in the fridge for when you get hungry, and--” 

“I’ll be okay.”

She nods. “I know. Sorry.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I should go. Have a good day, Bucky.” 

He nods, and she gives him a shaky smile before leaving through the door that leads to the garage, feeling his eyes on her as she goes.

***

Bucky watches her pull out of the driveway through a crack between the blinds and the side of the window.Fifteen minutes later, the house is too quiet. He goes up to his room. This is the first time she’s been out of the house without him since he arrived a week ago, not counting her quick trips to get groceries. 

It was another long night. He stayed awake through most of it, lying beside Amelia as she slept. The memory of Howard still ran through his thoughts. He had only a vague sense of knowing him before that moment, no other memories associated with him, but somehow the memory of his death brought a tightness to his chest that he hasn’t been able to shake yet, and lying there at night, alone with his thoughts, it can be nearly impossible to breathe. 

With Amelia at work, the next nine hours stretch out before him like an eternity. Tactically, this would be the best time for her to call the Avengers to come get him. He’s caught the worried look in her eyes over the past few days, as if waiting for things to go wrong. Calling for help would be the sensible thing, and when they arrive, he won’t fight. He’ll go with them. He’s tired of fighting, he realizes. Weary. 

Bucky pulls his backpack from the closet and puts his few belongings inside. He takes a change of clothing and a couple extra pairs of socks, but leaves the rest. There’s a picture in his drawer, one of him and Amelia that she took earlier in the week and then printed off for him, and he sticks that in a ziploc and places it in a padded pocket near the center of the bag, where it’ll be safe. He takes the picture of his mom, too, and then, he goes back down to wait. If he’s lucky, maybe they’ll let him keep it. 

Amelia calls once in the morning, and again at lunch, when he assures her that he is fine, and doesn’t need a third phone check-in. To him, each call feels like a goodbye.

***

When Amelia gets home, she is somewhat surprised to see Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, his bag beside him. In contrast, he looks very surprised to see her. 

“Planning a trip?” she asks, carefully. 

“You didn’t call anyone to come get me. Why?” 

She freezes, and something moves through her eyes. She shakes her head and gets a glass of water before sitting down across from him. 

“Why would I? I told you. You’re safe here, Bucky. No one needs to know you’re here, not until you’re ready for them to know.” 

He stares down at the table. “I didn’t think you meant it. I thought-- I thought maybe you changed your mind. You’d be safer. I thought--” His response is soft, and he briefly glances up up meet her worried gaze. “I didn’t think you meant it,” he repeats. 

Amelia reaches out, taking both of his hands in hers. “When you’re ready to call them, we will. Or we can show up at the Tower and shock the hell out of them. Or whatever you want to do. But not until you’re ready.” 

He nods. “Okay.” 

“Yeah? Good. I have Chinese food in the car. Hungry?” 

They end the evening in front of the television, Amelia leaning against him as they both read. The movie was long over, dinner dishes washed and put away. Bucky had trailed her to and from the kitchen, never letting him get too far from his reach, and had tugged her over beside him as they sat back down in the living room. She’s used to small, hesitant touches, but over the past couple of days, he’s started reaching for her with increasing regularity. And after the day’s uncertainty, he seems loath to let her go.

When she’s ready for bed, Bucky follows her into the bedroom, book still in hand. He’s already checked the backyard for any signs of intruders and double checked all of the locks on the windows and doors. It’s his pre-bed ritual, making sure the house is secure. 

Amelia’s phone chimes, and she pulls it from the pocket and checks the screen. “It’s Steve,” she says, holding up the screen. Bucky shrugs and goes back to turning the pages in his book, but she can see the tension in his shoulders. 

_Steve: Hey. Are you awake?_

_Amelia: Yeah. I’m up. Just about to text you. Busy day. How are things?_

_Steve: Nothing to report, but Sam and I did go out bowling this afternoon. His niece’s birthday party. See? I’m going out and spending time with people._

_Amelia: Good. I’m really glad to hear that. How did you do? And did you tell him that you’ve never been before?_

_Steve: 300. And are you accusing Captain America of doing something dishonorable? I’m disappointed in you._

“Is that good?” 

Amelia jumps. “Christ, Bucky.” He’s standing right beside her, reading over her shoulder. 

“Sorry. Is it?” 

“300 is a perfect score. He probably told Sam he’s never been before. He does that. People like to believe that they’re the first to show him something, so he plays along. I won’t tell you how much he’s made in bets that way. And to be fair, if Sam had done any research, he would have realized that they had bowling back in your time, too.” 

_Amelia: You’re incredible. And ridiculous. You know, eventually, you’re going to find someone who doesn’t fall for your nonsense._

_Steve: Someone beside you? The next time you’re in town, we should go bowling again. I forgot how much I enjoy it._

_Amelia: Absolutely. And then the pizza place over on 3rd?_

_Steve: Loser buys._

_Amelia: I don’t know if that’s entirely fair, but sure. Are we still on for Wednesday?_

_Steve: That’s actually why I texted you. I’m leaving first thing in the morning for a mission. Something in Belarus. I have to cancel._

Bucky leans in closer, frowning down at the screen. He remembers Belarus, and he doesn’t want Steve anywhere near there. “There’s a Hydra facility in Minsk. A big one. He shouldn’t get involved, if that’s the plan. Find out more about the mission.”

_Amelia: I’m calling._

Steve picks up on the first ring. _“Hey. I’m sorry. I was really hoping to see you.”_

She sits down on the bed, angling the phone out so Bucky can listen in. “No, it’s fine. That’s not why I called. What’s going on in Belarus? Anything I should worry about?” 

_“It’s probably nothing. Someone saw some tech in an old warehouse. We’re just following up. In and out; should be home by Friday.”_

Bucky makes a face. “He’s lying,” he mouths. Amelia nods. She knows. 

“Just..be careful, okay? Promise me.” 

_“I promise. What’s brought this on? Is everything okay?”_

Amelia’s eyes meet Bucky’s. “Everything’s fine. Just, with everything else going on… Just--” 

_“Hey,”_ Steve soothes. _“I’ll be fine. You know me. Alright? I’ll call when we land, and then as soon as we’re done, too. You don’t need to worry. I promise. Do you want to come stay at the tower until we get back?”_

The offer is tempting, and it wouldn’t be the first time that she waited out a mission at the tower, getting regular updates from JARVIS as the mission plays out. But Bucky couldn’t go with her, and leaving him alone wasn’t an option. 

“I’ll be alright. Just keep in touch. We’ll get lunch once you get back. And don’t do anything stupid.” 

He chuckles, voice sounding deeper over the phone lines. _“I’ll do my best. No promises. I should get going. Wheels up at 4:30.”_

“Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And good luck.” 

_“Sweet dreams, Amy.”_

She disconnects the call, and sets the phone on the nightstand. “Well.” 

“You’re not surprised.” 

“Nope. Reckless-and-Stupid is Steve’s middle name. Tony will look after him for me, and his team is the best out there. Whatever this is, they’ll be all right.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop, instead moving to his own side of the bed, and setting his book on the bedside table. She climbs in under the covers, and holds the blankets back until he joins her. 

And if she holds tighter to his hand as she falls asleep, he’s kind enough to pretend not to notice. 

***

The call comes at 1:37 PM on Wednesday afternoon. As it turns out, they are not alright. And Steve? Steve is especially not alright. Not even close.

And, _Christ_ , doesn’t Bucky’s blood just burn when he finds out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please let me know! Your words perk up my whole week. And if you have any theories about what sort of trouble Steve and the team found in Belarus, share! I'd love to see your ideas.


	8. Falling to Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds trouble, and Bucky and Amelia fall apart in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... Over 1000 hits on this story since I posted the first chapter. Between the hits, kudos, and comments, I am absolutely blown away by your response. THANK YOU!!
> 
> As a thank you, this chapter is going up early. I originally planned on publishing this on Monday, but it turned out to be a very emotionally draining chapter to write, so I spread it out a bit. There won't be a chapter up this Friday, but there's a huge chapter coming next Friday. 
> 
> Warning: There are mild(mild+, maybe) torture methods mentioned in this chapter. If that's a potential problem, let me know, and I'll send you a copy with those scenes removed.
> 
> As always, I only own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

_**Minsk, Belarus, 1952** _

He wakes up to bright lights and a searing cold. Voices weave in and out, but he doesn’t understand any of what they're saying. He is strapped down, unable to move even if the ice in his veins would allow him to. There’s no sense of where he is or who he is. All he knows is pain. 

A man leans over him, his head blocking the lights. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus enough to see. The man is middle-aged, balding, with a rodent-like appearance. 

“Ah. You are back with us.” His accent is familiar, and his voice elicits a knee-jerk reaction of panic. “I would apologize for the cold, but there is no helping it. I am Doctor Zola. Please, stop struggling. It will not help you.” 

He can feel his chest rising and falling as he struggles to breathe. The strange man sets a hand against his skin, and the touch burns. He tries to pull away, but his bonds won’t let him. He whimpers, the sound of a wounded animal. He tightens his lips. Showing weakness goes against every instinct. 

They eventually release his bonds, standing him in the center of the room. There are men with white lab coats and clipboards standing around him. Others wear black tactical gear and carry guns, all pointed at him. He fights the urge to curl in on himself, instead forcing himself to stand taller. Freed, he can see that one of his arms is...wrong. It’s made of metal. He flexes it, hearing a motor grind with each small move. Huh.

The same man, Zola, walks forward, circling him as he talks to the doctors. “You see, gentlemen, the project was a complete success. The programming removes the self without destroying his skills. He is trained for missions, without any emotions or memories to tie him down.” The man talks with an odd accent. “And his healing capabilities are unrivaled. Would you like to see a demonstration?”

He ends up in a concrete room. There’s a small metal drain in the floor. His gaze catches there, and he swallows down the nausea building in his stomach. There’s a glass window along one side, the men in lab coats sitting in wooden chairs on the other side. Small holes litter the upper reaches of the room, and he can see the barrels of guns just peeking through the openings.

What. The. _Hell._

“Send in the soldiers.” 

He tenses at the sound of Zola’s voice over the speakers. A section of the wall slides back, and a dozen men, armed and wearing thickly padded suits, march in, taking position opposite him. The men hold a frightening array of weapons in shaking hands. The men are scared, he realizes. Of what? What is happening? 

“Now!” Zola’s voice demands. The men attack, coming towards him with their knives and guns and electric prods and things he doesn’t have names for. 

And his body begins to move. 

The motions are natural, as if they’ve been drilled into his head over and over again. One well-placed kick, a twist of his wrist, a jerk of his elbow. One by one, the men fall. He feels two bullets sink somewhere beneath his skin, and a knife finds the sensitive skin beneath his ribs. A second knife drives deep into his thigh. Still, he doesn’t stop. Not until the soldiers are laying in a pile around him, leaving him in the center, breathing heavily as his blood flows like water. He weakens, dropping to his knees, and then to the ground, staring blankly at the other corpses as he waits to join them. 

“And now, gentlemen, we wait.” 

He presses his hands against the wounds on his thigh and near his ribs. They aren’t bleeding as heavily as they were even a minute ago, but the wounds are burning. He tries to push to his feet again. 

“Help. Please, help,” he gasps out. If the men behind the glass hear him, they do nothing, too busy scribbling in their clipboards. His legs move weakly against the cement, failing to do his bidding. He sets his head down on the wet floor, not caring whose blood is soaking into his hair, and breathes shallowly through the pain. Minutes pass. He tries again, this time making it as far as his knees before he falls back over. 

The next time, he makes it to his feet. 

More men file in, a half dozen guns pointed at him, and then Zola joins them. “Stand down, soldier. Your work is done.” 

He feels a sharp burn as someone presses an electric prod to his neck. 

Darkness falls.

***

He wakes up to bright lights. He’s not cold this time, but he aches, and his head is pounding. He shifts, feeling the bonds on his wrists and ankles. There is a new one strapped across his chest. 

The same rodent-like doctor, Zola, he remembers, leans over him. “You are awake. Good. You have impressed our guests. Congratulations, soldier.”

He blinks up, squinting into the lights. The doctor shifts the lamp away. He looks around the room, as best he can. “Where am I?” His voice is raspy. It sounds wrong to his ears. 

“Belarus. We are just outside Minsk.” 

“What happened to me?”

The doctor looks over. “That is not important. How are you feeling?” 

“Sore,” he answers honestly. 

“Hmm. That is good. Six hours ago, you were nearly dead. You are being sent on a trial mission, nothing challenging for someone of your skillset. Do not fail, soldier.” The doctor makes a gesture, and one of the armed men come over and undo the clasps holding him down. He sits up, slowly, keeping an eye on the guns pointed at him. 

“Go to the scrub station,” Zola points to a corner of the room. “When you are clean and dressed, these men will escort you to the mission site.” 

He makes his way to the scrub station, unsure of what is expected of him. Three soldiers follow him over, guns trained on him, and another man follows, this one in black military gear. “Strip down and stand near the drain.” 

He does as he is asked, trying hard to not react to the loss of privacy. The man uncurls a thick hose from the wall. The water is cold, the flow too strong. He feels it bruising his skin. A bar of soap is tossed in his direction, and he has to scramble to catch it. At the man’s command, he cleans himself, even working up a small lather in his hair, before the hose is turned on again. The water falling from his skin is red. When he is clean, he stands there, shivering and wet, naked for all of those in the room to see, until he is tossed a thin, rough towel.

“Your clothes are on the table.” 

He dries the water from his skin, ignoring the way the towel rubs raw his half-frozen skin, and hurriedly dresses. The material is thick, the shirt fully covering his arm, the black glove covering his hands. The soldiers escort him to a waiting van, and someone explains his role in the mission as they drive through crowded city streets. Finally, they drop him off in a back alley somewhere, press a sniper rifle into his hand, strap a watch to his wrist, and tell him to be at the pick up location in two hours. “We will be watching,” comes the final warning. The van pulls away, and he is alone. 

He considers running, but quickly dismisses it. He has no name, no past. Where would he go? So he completes the mission, killing three men and a woman with no reason for why he was doing it. He makes it to the exit point twenty minutes early, and sits down on the curb to wait. 

The street is nearly abandoned, despite the early evening hours. A few men sit across the street, playing cards on a front porch. A group of teens walk past, talking loudly in a language he doesn’t understand. And then a small dog runs past. He watches as the dog circles around, coming to his side, and pressing its cold nose against his cheek. The dog barks, and wags its tail. He rubs a hand, his real hand, over the mutt’s back. 

A small boy runs up. The dog barks again, and runs over to the kid. 

“спасибо.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You are American?” 

He shrugs. He doesn’t remember. 

“Thank you, for my dog. He is fast. You should not be here. It is a bad street.” 

He shrugs again. Not like he had a choice. 

The boy sits beside him. “My father, mama says he was American. Do you know him?” 

“Sorry.” 

The boy shrugs, mimicking his movement. 

The black van pulls up. 

“Get out of here, kid,” he growls, standing as the vehicle stops. One of the men gets out, weapon raised, the mission leader right behind him. 

“Who is this?” the man asks. 

"No one. He's no one. Just a boy." 

“He has seen your face.”

The boy grabs his dog and starts to run. The man with the gun lets him get halfway down the street, lets him almost escape, before lifting the gun and pulling the trigger. 

And then the man shoots the mutt, too, for good measure. 

When he is grabbed roughly and shoved into the van, he doesn’t even think to fight back. 

***

The medical tests begin the next day. He is strapped down while his arm is examined, electricity and scalpels running along what remains of his nerves as he writhes against the cold metal table. They draw blood. They make incisions and measure how long they take to heal. There is a physical endurance test. 

He passes it with little difficulty. They make it harder. He passes again. Failure is not an option. 

And then, they bring him to the pit. 

It is the final test. From what little he’s overheard, this is what will decide whether or not he is functioning well enough to be deemed a success.

The pit is full of shadows, yellowed lights doing little to push back the darkness, as he is brought inside. Chains hang from the ceiling, and he is directed to stand beneath them, shackles coming around his wrists and ankles. The man standing before him wears an emotionless expression, his movements rote and without hesitation. 

And then, they turn off the lights, plunging him into darkness, and leave him there. 

He has no way to measure time, but he knows that it doesn’t take long before his shoulders ache. However they attached the metal limb, it shoots pain down into his torso, along his spine. The ache grows into a searing burn, his muscles screaming. With nothing to see or hear, with no memories to occupy his mind, the pain becomes his whole existence. His legs weary, barely able to support him, but the added weight on his arms is unbearable. He stands, barely aware of anything, and waits.

When the lights come back on, minutes or hours or days after they were turned off, it’s too much. His world goes from black to blinding white. He closes his eyes, and tucks his face against his arm, anything to hide from the penetrating brightness. 

The silence is broken by a shrill siren. Other noises join in. Drums. Screams. After the sound deprivation, the noise is terrifying. 

“Stop. Stop. Please, stop.” 

It doesn’t. His screams join the noise, until his throat is hoarse and his mind can take no more. 

Darkness falls. 

***

He wakes with a scream in his throat. The room is dark again. His shoulders are numb. He struggles to stand, and with the decreased weight, the pain returns. He is hungry and weak and cold, and he’s pretty sure he pissed himself at some point, given the smell and the wetness along his pant legs. 

When the lights turn on, it is gradual. It still hurts, but he can handle it. It is his first time to look around the pit. The room is not overly large, maybe running 20 feet in either direction. There is a long metal counter along one wall, and drains in the floor. A small collection of tools sit on a wheeled cart barely five feet away. A small notebook takes up one corner of the cart. He glances at the tools, and then looks away, feeling sick. 

The same man from before walks up to him, and he feels like he is being taken apart, layer by layer, under his gaze. The man makes a few notations in the notebook, and then picks up a small knife. With the care of an artist, the man begins marking his skin. Each cut goes a tiny bit deeper than the last. Each sting of metal on flesh becomes more painful. Blood runs freely from his body. 

And then the man pulls out the larger tools. 

It doesn’t take long before he passes out, from pain or fear or blood loss, he’s not sure, but he welcomes the darkness like an old friend. 

He has no sense of time. It is dark and silent and loud and bright by turn. He bleeds. He burns. He starves. He roars as his bones are snapped and left to heal unattended.

But he does heal. And ain’t that the hell of it? He’s been praying for death for a while, but it refuses to come. At one point, he screams out a stranger's name. He has no idea why, or who the man is, but his torturer seems very interested, pausing his work to make notes.

He is weak. He is begging for release, of one kind or another. He is begging for it to stop. 

And then, it does. He is freed from the shackles, and falls to the ground. Buckets of ice water are poured over him, and he is stripped of his soiled clothing. And he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t respond. Doesn’t so much as blink. 

“His body is healing even as we watch,” a rodent-like man is explaining to a small crowd of observers. He feels like he should know the man’s name, but he can’t remember what it is or even how he knows him. The man continues. “With the use of our neural-eraser, we can heal his mind, too, erasing any memory of abuse.” 

He is strapped into a large metal chair. There’s a whirling sound, and two black pieces of metal ascend towards his face, locking on tight. Seconds later, he sees sparks and pain erupts in his mind. 

He sits up as the pieces fall away, and looks around the strange room. A rodent-like man, middle-aged and wearing glasses, stands before him. 

“Welcome back, soldier. Tell me, what do you remember?”

He thinks back, but there is nothing there. His wide eyes meet the other man’s gaze. “I-- I don’t know. Where am I? Why am I here?” 

A man walks out of a corner, wearing a blood-splattered apron, stopping before him, as if waiting for a reaction. 

He doesn’t know who this man is, or what reaction he’s waiting for. He ignores him.

“He does not remember the trauma,” the rodent-man was saying. “There is no lasting effect on his mind from even the worst tortures. The Winter Soldier is ready for active duty.”

***

_**April 2014** _

Tuesday, he doesn’t get out of bed. Amelia’s face is pinched with worry as she leaves. He lies in her bed, blankets piled around him, still wearing the clothes he wore the night before. 

He considers getting up, going for a walk around the house, maybe trying a new recipe, or pulling out his art supplies, or reading another chapter in his book. Netflix, maybe, or more research on the tablet. Getting through the next level of Candy Crush. Anything to occupy his mind. But none of it sounds good, so he curls tighter into the blankets, fighting to still his thoughts. 

He remembers Belarus. He remembers darkness and pain. That warehouse, with its underground chambers, became his training grounds for years. It’s where they first built the chair. It’s where they stored his cryotube between missions. It was where he learned to speak Russian instead of English, and where HYDRA set up their first laboratory outside of SHIELD’s watchful gaze, on the ruse of keeping an eye on rising tensions in the area. 

It’s also still an active base, mostly moved underground now. And Steve is about to walk right into it. 

He pulls the cell phone from the bedside drawer. One call. All it would take is one call, and he could tell Steve to get out of there. Turn the damn jet around. Keep Steve safe. Wasn’t that his job, back in the day? Protect Steve at all cost, even at the loss of his own life, if the stories he read on the internet were accurate. 

His fingers hesitate over the screen. And he can’t do it. He lies there, stomach twisted into painful knots, sweat beading on his brow, and he cannot make his fingers do so little as just swipe the screen a few times to make the call. Disgusted with himself, he throws the phone back into the drawer and slams it shut. 

That’s how Amelia finds him, just before lunch. 

“Bucky? Are you still in bed?” she asks, walking into the room. He doesn’t respond. Can’t. There are no words that can force their way past the lump of lead in his stomach. She moves further into the room, stopping beside him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He just shakes his head. 

“Slide over. Let me in.” 

He does, and she gets into the bed beside him, reaching for his hand. She ends up lying with her head on his chest, one hand holding his, the other arm draped over him. “I’m worried, too,” she whispers, before falling silent with him. 

She is warm and solid, and a reminder that he isn’t facing this alone. 

Her phone rings just before two. She shifts, pulling it from her pockets. “Hello?” 

_“Hey. We’ve landed, and are on our way to the hotel. We’re settling in and getting started in the morning.”_ He could hear Steve’s voice on the other end of the line. He wanted to speak out. Come home. Two words. Two short words. 

Instead, he reflexively tightens his grip on Amelia’s hand. She glances up, her gaze seeking. Whatever she sees in his face, her face takes on that worried pinch again. 

“And how is Minsk? Nice place?” she asks.

Steve gives a short laugh. _“I’ll take a few pictures for you. Tony threatened to take us out tonight, but I think we talked him out of it.”_

_“Capiscle got his virginal panties in a twist,”_ comes Tony’s voice from somewhere nearby. 

_“I need to get going. We’re nearly to the hotel, and we have some last minute details to go over. I’ll call as soon as it’s done, alright?”_

“Yeah. Just.. stay safe, okay? I have a bad feeling about this one.” Bucky feels her gaze on his face as she says it. 

_“I will. Promise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Should be no later than mid-morning.”_

“I’ll be waiting. Good luck.” 

Amelia sets the phone on the nightstand, and turns back to him. “You know something about what they’re going to find tomorrow, don’t you?”

Bucky nods, and tries to push the images from his head. He remembers so little of his life, but a lot of what he does remember comes from the warehouse. She runs a hand along his back, the touch pulling him back.

“The whole team is there, Thor included. They could handle alien invaders, remember? They’ll be okay.” Her smile is strained, and not as reassuring as she probably hopes it is. Bucky takes her hand, and pulls her back down. It helps, knowing that she is worried, too, and that she’s comfortable enough around him to show it. He’s used to HYDRA, where emotions were a forbidden weakness. To feel her beside him, relying on him for comfort the same way he relied on her, it felt right. 

“I’m going to go make something to eat,” Amelia says, after another half hour ticks by. “Want to come with?” 

When he doesn’t respond, she sits up, squeezes his shoulder, and climbs out of bed. Bucky listens as she moves along the hallway and down the stairs, then curls back down into the blankets. 

It’s not half as comforting alone. After a moment of debate, he crawls out of the bed, and joins her in the kitchen, where she is putting together a huge plate of sandwiches. A bottle of root beer sits beside it. She sees him, and gives a smile in acknowledgement, and then digs through the freezer, pulling out a carton of caramel ice cream. A few minutes later, they are carrying the sandwiches and two root beer floats to the dining room. 

“Want to play Battleship?” she asks, setting the plate down. “It’s a strategic game. Something to take our mind off things.” 

He nods, and she leaves the room, coming back moments later with the game box. She spends a few minutes setting it up, and then explaining the rules. He takes the first move, hitting nothing but empty water. After a couple of turns, he starts to get drawn in. The idea isn’t so different from what he’s done as the Winter Soldier. Assess, plan an attack, and take each response from his opponent into consideration before making the next move. When he sink her submarine, he can’t help but feel a little smug. 

Two turns later, she takes his aircraft carrier, and her smile is triumphant. A few turns after that, she takes one of his destroyers. He pauses a moment to reassess his strategy, and quickly sinks one of her patrol boats. 

She wins the first game. He wins the next three, and they switch to another strategic game. Halfway through that one, she orders in pizza, neither of them willing to leave the table long enough to cook. 

Amelia is competitive, surprisingly so, and smart. Her strategies border between carefully thought out plays and reckless maneuvers that keep him guessing, because half of them make no sense at all until he gets far enough along to see the whole picture. She laughs when he mentions it, and blames it on playing these games against some of the Avengers team. She had to learn fast to keep up, so her style was a mix of theirs. Bucky still wins more than he loses, but he appreciates the challenge. 

Before he knows it, it’s late, and Amelia is starting to yawn. They finish the next game, and he packs up the pieces. They get ready for bed like they do every night, lie down beside each other, and turn off all but Amelia’s nightlight, and pretend that it’s just like every other evening. But he doesn’t miss the way that she turns up the ringer volume on her phone, and places it beside her pillow, only inches from her hand. 

***

Amelia stays home the next day, taking advantage of her flexible work arrangements. Neither of them slept much, tossing and turning all night. Bucky gets up before she does, and has breakfast ready when she comes down the stairs. They eat in the kitchen, both picking at their food in silence. It all tastes like sawdust.

“This is the worst part,” Amelia says, as she stands to scrape the majority of her meal into the garbage can. “I hate waiting and not knowing.” It’s barely 7:30, but with the seven hour time difference, Steve will be calling at any time between now and eleven. 

Bucky touches her shoulder as he walks past, and she leans into the touch. They both end up on the couch, and Bucky picks out a movie. It ends, and Amelia picks out the next. She tries very hard not to look at the clock, and not to notice as mid-morning gives way to late morning, which eventually gives way to early afternoon, but she can see Bucky glancing at it just as often as she is, and can see his agitation in the way he keeps flexing his fingers against his thigh. 

The call finally comes at 1:37, but when Amelia checks the screen, it’s not Steve’s name that greets her.

_“Amelia.”_ And she knows, as soon as Tony says her name. 

“How bad is it?” she asks, before he can say anything else.

Bucky looks up from across the room, where he was looking for another movie. His eyes narrow slightly.

_“We don’t know yet. He’s in surgery. It’s...bad, kid. There was an explosion. He was caught in the middle of it. He shouldn’t have made it out.”_

Her hand not holding the phone curls tightly into the couch cushions. “Tony…” 

_He’s going to survive, Amy. I promise. He’s stubborn; it’ll take more than this to keep him down. Which is a good thing, because I plan on killing him the moment he’s well enough to board the jet.”_ She hears the fear and worry in his voice, despite his words. 

“What happened?” 

_“We found some stuff that leads back to Barnes. HYDRA did some horrible stuff to him, and it looks like a lot of it happened here. Steve kind of lost it, got reckless. We’re going to be here a day or two for him to stabilize, but then we’re all coming home. Be at the tower when we get back. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He can’t keep this up, Amy. It’s going to kill him. You didn’t see him out there. I was the only one who could safely retrieve him. I thought--”_ He breaks off. _“I should go. They’re wheeling him back to a recovery room soon, and I need to be there.”_

“Keep me posted.” 

_“I’ll call as soon as I see him.”_

“I know. Thank you.” 

She hangs up the phone, drops her head into her hands, and tries to stop shaking. 

“Is he dead?” Bucky’s voice sounds small. 

Amelia shakes her head. “No, but he’s in bad shape. There was an explosion. He was right in the middle of it.” She sniffles, and wipes at her cheeks. “Bucky..” Her voice is pleading. She doesn’t care. Right now, she needs him. He slowly walks over, sitting at her side and letting her cling to him as she cries. His arms fold around her, and she feels his face pressed against her hair.

***

Bucky feels her shaking in his arms. Steve isn’t dead, but she’s scared, and he gets the feeling that maybe the Captain isn’t out of the woods yet. 

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He has so few memories of Steve, but Bucky knows that he matters. He cares for the man, even if it is still in an abstract sense, even if he doesn’t remember why he cares. He just knows that the past day, knowing that Steve was going into the warehouse, and now knowing that he was hurt, have been excruciating. His heart hurts. His hands are sweaty, and he feels light headed. It’s fear and anxiety and confusion, all rolled up and stuck like cement in his stomach. 

“As soon as Steve is okay to move, they’re bringing him back. I’m meeting them at the Tower, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” She pauses. “Come with me.” 

Her words are muffled against his chest, but he hears every syllable. His flesh hand tightens on the back of her shirt. Part of him longs to go, to see for himself that Steve is okay, and then scream at him for being a reckless idiot. But the thought of Steve, of having to face him, with his past set out before him (especially after everything Steve would have found in the warehouse), was still worse than the thought of not being there to see for himself he was okay. It’s bad enough that Steve and his team know some of what HYDRA made him do. He really didn’t want Steve to find out what it took to destroy the man he’d once been. He didn’t want him to know what it took to become the Winter Soldier. 

And now, he doesn’t know how to face him. Will Steve look at him like a criminal, like the villain of this story, or like a broken toy, crumbled beyond all use, but still held onto just because he can’t stand to let it go? “I can’t.” His voice cracks around the words. 

Amelia says nothing, not moving from his arms, but he can feel the way she stiffens slightly at his words. Not the response she was hoping for, then, but she doesn’t push. 

Her phone rings again a half hour later. She lifts her head to answer it, speaking briefly and then setting the phone back down. 

“He’s in recovery, already starting to heal, but he’s unconscious. He was burned pretty badly, and they don’t have enough of the super-soldier strength pain meds to keep him under entirely, so they’re doing the best they can. Tony and Nat are staying with him overnight, and he promised to call as soon as he wakes up.” 

She is exhausted, her face drawn with worry and pale. He doesn’t imagine that he looks much better at this point, but he’s stayed up longer than this. He’ll rest once she is okay. “C’mere,” he says, guiding her down to rest on his lap. He begins running his hands across her scalp and through her hair, knowing how soothing it is when she does it for him. He wishes that he had some story to tell her, from some other time Steve beat the odds and turned out alright, but his memories remain frustratingly just out of reach. Still, it doesn’t take long before she is snoozing lightly, one arm wrapped around his knees, and the other hand holding his metal prosthetic. He feels a couple tears slip from her cheeks to his pant legs, and he makes a soothing sound low in his throat. 

He sits there as she rests, trying to call forward memories of Steve, but nothing comes. The only thing he gets for his efforts is a headache. What he wants is to find something to help him understand why Steve matters so much. He’s read the articles and websites dedicated to their friendship, but he doesn’t have anything to cement the connection. He’s worried, the thought of Steve hurt and half the world away makes him ill, but he doesn’t remember why, and it’s frustrating.

Amelia awakes a couple hours later, and he gets her a glass of water and a sandwich. She accepts with a mumbled ‘thank you’, eyes bleary and red. She still looks pale, but not as tired. It’s a start. 

“I tried to remember,” he says, as she eats. “I couldn’t. There’s nothing there, nothing that I haven’t already remembered.” 

Amelia nods, and leans against him. He sets his arm over her shoulders. “A few months after Steve woke up, we decided to go on a road trip to somewhere in upstate New York, make a long weekend of it. He pulled up in a rented Jeep with Clint, who I barely knew at the time. Turned out, Clint had just returned from a rough mission, and showed up on Steve’s doorstep the night before, so he invited him along. It was a seven hour drive to this cabin on one of the Finger Lakes. Once we got up there, we rented a boat, on the assurances that Steve knew how to drive one.” She pauses, and shares a conspiratorial smile with him. “He lied, Bucky. He took us out to the middle of the lake, and stalled it. And then he flooded the engine trying to get it going again. Clint was sitting back, drinking beers and laughing at him. No one had their phones with them, and we were too far out to wave our hands around and call for help. Clint suggested swimming to shore, but he’d had a few too many, so no one was letting him get near the water. Steve offered, but he has bad luck with not drowning,” Bucky snorts at that, “so he was vetoed, and I’m a good swimmer, but not good enough to manage the half mile to shore.

“Clint was drunk enough to relax and get chatty, so he started talking about one of his first missions, where he had to swim through freezing water to take out a ship off the coast of Alaska somewhere. And then Steve started talking about his time with you and the rest of the Commandos. And it was kind of perfect, you know? They both needed to talk, and stuck out there in the water, they didn’t have anything else to do. War stories turned into stories about growing up. And some of the stupid stunts you guys managed to survive had Clint and I in tears. Before we knew it, another boater came around, and was able to get us moving again. We made it back to our camp without any other problems. The rest of the weekend went off without a hitch, other than a slight incident with the grill. And I got a whole new appreciation for him. Not just through the stories he told. The fact that he’d open his door to Clint, who he barely knew, and then invite him along to help him get over a bad week, or the fact that he swam out to help a couple of kids retrieve their water tubes, or helping an older woman load her groceries into the car when we went into town for supplies. And then watching him and Clint get in this epic prank war, which ended with lots of Jello and us definitely not getting our deposit back. But that was the first time I saw it. All of the history books go on about what a great guy he was, how he won everyone’s loyalty, and how the whole world celebrated his life, after he was gone. And after meeting him, it didn’t match up. He was a good guy, and we were friends, but I never saw that side of him, you know?” Bucky nods. “But that weekend? He finally opened up a bit, and I saw it. It’s the reason you spent your childhood, and most of your adulthood, protecting him, and then following him into battle without question. It’s the same reason that your team followed him before, and Avengers follow him now. He’s good, and he makes everyone around him want to be good, too.” 

“Or risk one of his Captain America looks,” Bucky jokes lightly. His eyes go wide with the near-memory, and Amelia laughs. 

“Yeah, you’ll be glad to know that some things haven’t changed at all in the last seventy years” she responds, a wry smile twisting her lips. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Hand to God, doll, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.” It’s not much of a memory, just a glimpse, but.. “The other Commandos and I used to give him a hard time about it. Said he left his uniform on a bit too long, and all of that Captain America wholesomeness sunk in a bit too far.” He shakes his head. “Wasn’t that, though. He’s always been that way. But people stopped trying to beat him up for it once he was bigger than they all were.” 

Amelia laughs, and he’s surprised to feel his own lips quirking into a smile.

Her phone rings again, and she reaches for it. “Hello?” She tilts it to let Bucky listen in. 

_“Hey, kid. He’s awake. Still a bit groggy, though, and in a lot of pain, even though he’s too stubborn to admit it. I’m going to set the phone down next to him and put it on speaker. Distract him for a while. Nat went to find dinner, and I need to pee. I’ll use the one down the hall, and give you a few minutes.”_

“Thanks, Tony.” 

_“Anything for our witless leader. I’m switching it to speakerphone. Say something.”_

“Something.” 

_“Clever. You hear her, Cap?”_

_“Yeah.”_ His voice is weak, but she can’t help the shiver of relief that runs through her at the sound. 

_“Okay, I’m leaving.”_ The door closes somewhere in the background. 

_“Hey, Amy.”_

Bucky squeezes her hand, his eyes glued to the phone. 

“Hey, yourself. Tony said you managed to find a bit of trouble. Thought I told you to be careful. I’ve been so worried. Are they taking good care of you?” 

_“Yeah, I’m alright. And I’m sorry for worrying you.”_

“It’s alright, but if you want to make it up to me, heal quickly, okay? Concentrate on getting better and getting home. I’ll be waiting.” 

_“Amy, the things in that warehouse, the things we found--”_ Bucky hears what sounds like a breathy sob. _“I left him to that. I could have saved him. I didn’t know. What if he hates me? What if that’s why I can’t find him?”_

Bucky shakes his head, wishing again that he could find a way to say something. Amelia grasps his hand tighter. 

“Steve, he doesn’t hate you. And whatever you found, he survived it, okay? No matter how bad it was, he survived. Focus on that. If he’s strong enough to survive whatever you found, he’s strong enough to make it back to you. And he will.” She meets Bucky’s gaze as she speaks. “And whatever he’s gone through, and whatever he’s still going through when you find him, you know you’re not doing this alone, right? You’re not the only person who cares about him, Steve. Not by a long shot. You know the team is behind you. They’ll accept him, no questions asked. And he has Sam and me, too, especially the two of us. But, he’s going to need you. And you need to make sure that you’re there for that.” She pauses. “So right now, you’re going to stop worrying about it, okay? And just come home.”

_“I will. I am. You’ll be there?”_ His voice wavers, and Bucky knows, just knows, that he’s exhausted beyond all reason, and hurting to boot. 

“The moment you step off the jet.” 

_“Thank you.”_ Bucky hears the relief in his voice.

“Anytime.” The door opens again in the background, and a pair of expensive shoes cross the room. There’s no squeak on the linoleum, and only the very softest of noise as the man walks. 

_“Alright, Capsicle. Sleep for you, I think. That nurse is threatening to come in again. Say goodbye to Amy. You can talk to her again tomorrow.”_

_“G’night, Amy.”_

“Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll see you in a couple days.” 

Amelia talks to Tony for another minute, and then hangs up. She stares down at the phone in her hands for a long moment before looking up to him. “You need to tell him, Bucky. He needs to know that you’re okay.” 

His heart speeds up. “Not yet.” 

“I don’t want to push you, you know that. But he’s hurting. He’s scared. And he’s blaming himself. That makes a volatile combination.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I can’t. Not now. Amelia…” He trails off, unsure of what to say next. How can he try to make her understand, when he doesn’t even understand all of this himself?

“When? If not now, when? He needs you, and he needs to stop doing stupid things to try to find anything that might lead him back you. I don’t care if you go see him. I don’t even care if you talk to him. But, let him know you’re okay. Or I can tell him. That’s all he needs to know. He won’t come here, not if you don’t want him to, but…” 

“No. You-- You don’t understand. If he-- he--.” He breaks off. “I’m not ready.”

“Please. I’m trying to understand. I am. But I’m also trying to save my friend. And I don’t know if I can do that without you.” Her voice is soft. She’s trying to soothe him, trying to be gentle, but her friend was in danger, and she’s scared, too. 

And the whole thing is his fault. 

Guilt threatens to strangle him. He catches Amelia’s gaze, sees the fear, desperation, and tears in her eyes, and he panics. He pushes her away, feeling her tumble to the couch to sit alone in the spot he vacated, and moves across the room. “I can’t!” 

She stands up, making her way towards him. She wants to reach out, to fix this, but she can’t. He pulls away. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Bucky--” 

“I will, I just--” 

“If you don’t tell him soon, you might not have a best friend to go back to. He’s killing himself to try to bring you home. Please, don’t let him do that.”

_Please, don’t make me do this._

The words echo. Bucky’s head is pounding, and his vision starts to tunnel as bile rushes up his throat. He swallows hard, and grasps at the wall behind him. He jerks unsteadily, accidentally sending his metal arm through the wall, hearing wood and plaster splinter at the force.

“Bucky, I can’t lose him.” Amelia’s plea is soft, but cuts to his core. She is trying to save Steve. He understands. He wants to save him, too. But if just seeing part of what was done to him is enough to send Steve into a suicidal tailspin, what’s going to happen when he sees what’s left of the man who was once his best friend? How is that going to help him? And Bucky isn’t willing to risk his freedom, his chance at finding his way back to human, just to destroy Steve further. 

And, truthfully, he’s scared. Everything that he remembers surviving, everything else that he doesn’t remember, and it’s a blond haired boy from Brooklyn that has the power to break him, to drag him to his knees and leave him there. And that’s terrifying, the thought that one man could have so much of an impact, enough to destroy him in ways that 70 years at HYDRA’s mercy couldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t help him.” He forces the words out, and then runs for the front door, hearing it slam behind him as he runs off of the front porch and out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “спасибо.” -- Thank you.
> 
> In the next chapter, we're heading down to Avengers Tower, and the countdown to the reunion begins. 
> 
> Thank for reading!!


	9. Manhattan (Part I of III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter as soon as I hit "post" on the last chapter. When I checked last night, it was sitting at somewhere above 10,000 words. Ha. Yikes. So, I'm breaking it into three parts. This one is going up tonight, the next two are going up between now and Tuesday evening. The other parts are both written (excluding a couple scenes), but they need a lot of love to get to the point where I feel comfortable sharing them. I swear I'm not trying to draw this out. I just don't want to put them up before they're ready, and 10,000+ makes for a really long chapter. 
> 
> The first part covers from where chapter eight left off through the drive to Manhattan. The second part covers Amelia's time in the City. Part three is the drive home. Adventures, kids. Also, Sam is going to be a problem. He's really observant, and he's going to be the first to notice that something is up with Amelia. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and just for clicking on over to read this. I posted the first chapter expecting that I might get one or two people to take a peek, and then it would sit mostly ignored. Your response to this story has been phenomenal, and I love you all. 
> 
> As always, I only own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

Amelia jumps as the door slams shut, the sound echoing through the house. She runs out onto the porch, Bucky’s name catching in her throat, but he’s already gone. She stands there, trying not to panic as she stares out into the night, 

What has she done? God, if there was a better way to mess everything up, she didn’t know it. There’s no way that Bucky is going to let her find him. She could drive around all night, and not have a chance of bringing him home on her own. 

She messed up. If he never came back, if Steve never saw him again, it was on her. And how was she going to explain that to Steve? He’d never forgive her. Or, he would, because that’s what he does, but she could never forgive herself.

But worse, she’s hurt the man who came to her when he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Her friend. The man who stayed with her after nightmares left her crying on the floor (yeah, like she hadn’t seen right through his worry about a concussion), and who made breakfast, and kept her kitchen cleaner than it’s ever been. 

The man whose companionship meant more to her with each passing day, something that she tried really, really hard to ignore.

She goes back inside, closing the door behind her, and turning on the porch light. His phone is sitting on the coffee table in the living room; she has no other way to invite him back. No other way to tell him that she's waiting for him to come home. And she’ll keep that porch light on every minute, every night if she has to, until she knows he’s safe. 

Because, isn’t that the thing? Back out there, back out wandering alone, he’s more likely to gain HYDRA’s notice. Or the Rising Tide, or any other group of terrorists looking for a shiny new weapon. He’s in danger, more than he had been, and it’s her fault. 

She makes her way to the living room, and sits down in the armchair. She’s willing to wait, hoping with every breath that he’ll give her a second chance. 

At 2:00 AM, she calls Tony for an update, knowing he’d wait to call her until a reasonable hour, but it’s going on nine in the morning in Minsk, and she’s anxious to know how Steve fared through the night. 

_“What are you doing up?”_ comes his greeting, skipping all formalities.

“Can’t sleep. How is he?” 

_“Healing slowly. Still in a lot of pain, but he’ll live. He’s resting now, at least. There was a bad moment a few hours ago. I almost called you, but he got through it. He’s a mess, and being stuck in the hospital isn’t helping, so we’re leaving tonight. Earlier than we maybe should, but we just want to get him home. Sam’s already at the Tower. We’ll be landing, your time, around 10:00 tonight. You’re going to be there?”_

“Yeah. I’ll head up this afternoon. Tony--” 

_“I’ll look after him for you. Get some sleep, Kid. He’s going to be fine.”_

She hangs up the phone, and curls her knees up to her chest. 2:05 AM. There’s still no sign of Bucky, so she waits, trying to ignore the hollow ache in her chest and the tears that are starting to roll down her cheeks again. 

***

He runs, blind with panic and stumbling as he goes. 

Bucky finally stops a dozen blocks away, ducking into an unlocked garden shed. It’s not a great start to running away. He doesn’t have anything but the clothes on his back, but that’s alright. He’s survived with less before. 

He bunks down behind a lawn mower, sitting on the dirty floor. If he knows Amelia, she’s panicking, thinking that his leaving is her fault. And she’s not wrong, not entirely, but it’s not in the way she thinks.

It’s not that he wants Steve to suffer. Knowing that he was in danger, that there was nothing he could do, Bucky thinks it’s been a very long time since he’s known fear like that. He barely remembers the man, but he knows that Steve’s death would shatter whatever was left of his world. There would be no coming back from that. 

The very thought makes him ill, and he has to concentrate on his breathing to keep from getting sick all over the floor.

He doesn’t want Steve to suffer, but if Bucky goes back to him, that’s all he’s going to bring with him. Suffering. Pain for the years they lost, for everything they both left behind in 1945. Pain for everything they’ve both survived in all of the years since. 

Amelia said, just a few days after Bucky showed up on her doorstep, that Steve was finally happy again. He was adjusting. He had friends, a new team. A new life. 

Until Bucky came back into his world, destroying everything in his wake. Steve nearly killed himself in Minsk today, all because Bucky wasn’t dead, like he was meant to be. And now, if Bucky called him, or showed up at the Tower, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t give them back the lost years. It wouldn’t magically fix his shattered memories. All it would do is bring more pain, and Bucky’s done enough of that to last a lifetime.  
And that’s forgetting the fact that this whole mess in Minsk is his fault to begin with. 

It’s not just his fear of losing his freedom that sent Bucky running into the night, or the panic at the thought of facing Steve. Is he afraid? Yes. But what Amelia doesn’t understand is that, as bad as the fear is, the guilt is worse. Her friends could have died today. Steve nearly did. He’s lying in a hospital bed halfway around the world, dealing with a pain that there is no cure for. 

And it’s Bucky’s fault. All he had to do was make a phone call. Send a text. Anything to warn Steve away, and he couldn’t do it. Seventy years ago, James Buchanan Barnes was a hero. Whatever is left of him now is nothing more than a coward wearing the hero’s face, and they’d all be better off if he was somewhere far away from here, somewhere far enough away to keep them safe.

It takes an hour to still his racing thoughts, to catch his breath and slow the beat of his heart. It takes another two hours after that to realize that he has no idea where to go. California? Alaska? Russia? He could hide in some tiny town along the border for a while, maybe, until he has a better plan. Or he could head to Brooklyn, try to reclaim his past before he faces an uncertain future. Regardless of his choice, it means leaving Amelia behind. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be ready to try to reach out to Steve, and if he can’t, that means saying goodbye to everything with Amelia, too. 

He pushes that thought away. If he thinks too hard about what he’s leaving behind, he’ll never go. He was only supposed to stay with her one night, just a few hours, and it’s been weeks. He doesn’t want to walk away from her. He doesn't want to be alone again, not now that he knows what it's like to have somebody care.

But it wouldn’t be fair to stay. She’ll eventually tell Steve that he was there, and that he left again, but Bucky’s okay with that. Maybe he’ll send her a note, Thanking her for the time she put into trying to save him and telling Steve to stop looking. Drop it in a mailbox somewhere along the way, and then never look back again.

But he can’t just leave. Not without knowing that she’ll be protected. He’ll get a message to Stark Tower saying that Amelia needs to be guarded. Kept safe at all costs. Maybe Steve will even come out and stay for a while, or she could move to the Tower. Whatever they decide, she shouldn’t be alone and unprotected. Not when HYDRA could easily track him to her. 

He can’t stay and protect her himself, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t find some way to keep her safe. 

It’s approaching dawn when he picks himself up off the floor and brushes off the back of his pants. Under the cover of the early morning gloom, he slips out of the shed, cuts across the lawn, and makes his way back towards E. River Street. He just wants one last glimpse before he goes. A chance to say goodbye, even if he has to whisper it from the sidewalk. 

She left the porch light on. 

He stops, frozen, across the street. In the time he’s spent with her, she’s never had the light on. Says it attracts bugs and wastes energy. So the fact that it’s on now, well, it means something. 

And if he goes over to check, he’s willing to bet that the door is unlocked, too. 

She’s an idiot. And he’s torn between wanting to shake her and wanting to hug her, because she knows better. But she also knows that he doesn’t have his key, and that a glowing porch light is the universal sign of invitation. A beacon drawing the lost and broken to a safe harbor.

It’s safe. Come home. Please, come home. 

He’s across the street before he’s aware of moving. Up the porch stairs, opening the door, and stepping inside. He was right, the door was unlocked. He knew exactly where she was, with the living room lamp being the only light on in the entire house. He shuts off the porch light and locks the door, then quickly makes his way into the other room. 

She is curled up in the armchair, silently watching him. Her face is streaked with dried tears, her eyes red and raw. She doesn’t say a word, just watches him as he comes inside. 

“You left the light on.” She nods. “And the door unlocked.” She hesitates, and nods again. His temper flares. “Should have rolled out a damn carpet, easy as you were making it for HYDRA. What the hell were you thinking? If they knew where I was, you wouldn’t still be here. You wanna have a talk about what they would have done to you to try to get me back?” His voice is rising, but he can’t help it. He opens his mouth to say more, but then he looks at her, really looks. Tears are gathering in her eyes, eyes that are focused on the floor at his feet. He deflates. 

“Amelia…” _Christ._ What is wrong with him? He can’t seem to stop hurting her tonight. The hole in the wall is clearly visible from where he stands, and he flushes red with shame.

“I’m sorry.” Her words are little more than a hoarse whisper. 

“I know.” Bucky swallows hard, takes a step closer. “Me, too. I- I just--” 

“I shouldn’t have pushed. You were right to go. I’ll go to New York, and you can stay here. If-- If you’re staying.”

He nods. “I- Yes.” He can’t imagine going anywhere else. Maybe he knew that the whole time. This, here with her, has become the closest thing to home that he can remember. He doesn’t want to leave. Knowing that he is still welcome here, that he doesn’t have to leave everything behind and start again somewhere else, the relief is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. 

Amelia doesn’t look nearly as relieved. Her little smile is forced, and he can see the tension in the way she stands to get out of the chair. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m okay.” 

She’s not. “Has Tony called?” 

“He’s healing. They’ll be back tomorrow. Or, tonight, I guess,” she says, glancing at the clock. 

He nods, and rubs at his arm. “I’m going to go up, try to sleep.” 

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

He goes up the stairs, catching out of the corner of his eye how she just sits back down in the chair as soon as she thinks he can’t see, pulling her legs up to her chest, and staring blankly out in front of her. She’s more than not okay, and he wants to go down to her, or ask her to come up with him, but things feel shaky between them, and he doesn’t know how to change that. He doesn’t know how to reach out and help, so he keeps walking. 

****

Amelia wakes up to him looming over the chair. Menace rolls off of him. She looks up, and sees the Winter Soldier staring out through Bucky’s eyes. 

“Good morning,” she says softly. He watches her, expression dark. He’s too close for her to easily stand up. The sky outside the windows is soft; it is early morning. Only an hour, maybe two, have passed since Bucky went upstairs. She doesn’t dare take her eyes off him to check the time.

The Soldier says nothing, just stares down at her. She holds her hands out, away from her body and the chair. She looks back up at his face. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. The year is 2014, and you’re standing in my living room in Eddisburg, Pennsylvania. You left HYDRA a month ago. I’m your friend, and you’re safe here with me. We’re both safe here, Bucky. There is no threat.” Her voice is pitched low and even. He blinks down at her. He isn’t moving, but he isn’t trying to kill her, either, so she must be doing something right.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asks, gesturing to the couch. “Come on, I’ll join you.” 

He glances at the couch, and back to her. She holds her hand out. “Help me up?” 

He stares at it, and she sees a flicker of confusion in his eyes. It’s a long second before he looks back to meet her gaze.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” She stretches her hand another few inches, and he reaches out, taking her hand and lifting her from the chair. She stands before him, her hand caught in his and held between their chests. He looks down at her, his thumb ghosting across the back of her hand. For a moment, he is unguarded. Scared and vulnerable, confused as he stares down at where their hands meet. Finally, he looks back to her, expressions falling away and leaving a horrible emptiness in their place.

“You’re okay,” she says softly. “We’re safe.” 

He holds her gaze as she very slowly reaches a hand up to his cheek feeling the way his beard scratches at the sensitive skin of her palm. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t break eye contact either, and she gets the feeling that one wrong move is all it would take to destroy the hesitant calm between them. 

She holds still a long moment, letting him adjust to her touch before gesturing to the couch again. “Come on, let’s sit down.” She leads him over, meaning to sit on the opposite side, but he tugs her closer as she goes to sit, and she ends up nearly pressed against his side. 

“You aren’t afraid,” he says, wonder and confusion coloring his voice. 

“No. You know me. I trust you not to hurt me.” 

He circles his metal hand around her wrist. “I could.” There’s a warning in his voice, but his face is anguished. 

“Yes, you could.” She holds his gaze. He looks down to her wrist, experimentally tightening his grip, just shy of applying enough pressure to hurt her. She doesn’t react, and he relaxes his fingers, letting his hand fall away.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admits.

“I’m glad.”

He regards her carefully, and she thinks she sees the first hint of recognition in his eyes. She reaches up with her free hand (the other still grasped in his), and brushed his hair from his face. “Bucky?” 

He tenses, and then his eyes clear. “Amelia,” he breathes. She smiles, and settles back against the couch. He looks down at their hands, and then gives her a curious look. “I didn’t hurt you.” 

“No. You were very gentle with me. You didn’t sleep for very long; did you want to go back to bed, or would you like me to start breakfast?” 

“Can we just stay here for a while?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” She responds, setting her head against his shoulder. 

***

Bucky shifts his arm, slipping it around Amelia’s shoulders and tugging her another inch or two closer. Coming back is disorienting; the feel of her pressed against him helps to keep him from getting lost again. 

After last night, after nearly running from this, he needs the reassurance. 

HYDRA would have never tolerated this weakness, this need for small assurances. He doesn’t remember a time before then, when this contact would have been allowed. Did he have this before, someone to hold his hand, or stay beside him on a rough night? 

Did he even have rough nights, back before the war and everything that followed? 

Either way, he knows that he isn’t okay with the thought of Amelia leaving here and traveling alone to Manhattan. HYDRA aside, it’s a huge city, and there are dangers there that she wouldn’t be able to protect herself from. Would the others know to watch out for her? Did they understand the danger she was in if HYDRA even suspected that he was in her life? 

“What time are you leaving?” 

“Early afternoon. Sam and I are eating dinner together tonight, to try to sort out what we’re going to do with Steve. I’ll call when I get in. I can go out before I go to make sure you have everything you need or want here. Feel free to make a list, and you can call or text whenever. I’ll find a way to respond. Although, actually don’t call. Jarvis has voice recognition abilities, and if he recognizes your voice from the archive footage, we could run into some complications.”

He shakes his head, and speaks before he knows what he’s doing. “No. I’m going. Not..not to the Tower. Not to see Steve. I’ll find a place to stay nearby. It’s not safe for you to go alone.” He slips his phone from his pocket and starts researching possibilities.

“But you’ll be safer here. And I’ll be fine. The Tower is the safest building in the city. Probably along the entire east coast.” 

“If HYDRA finds you…” 

“Okay, one, HYDRA isn’t looking for me. They have no reason to. Two, I’m friends with Iron Man and Captain America, and I know the rest of the team well enough to use their first names. There are some perks involved. If I’m not to the Tower on time, Pepper will send out the team the moment they land. Also, Jarvis can track my vehicle, my phone, and-- 

He pulls up the information he was looking for, and angles the phone screen to show her. “There’s an apartment building across the street from the Tower. I’ll stay there.” 

“That close?” 

“You don’t leave the Tower alone, and if your escort isn’t an Avenger, it counts as alone.” 

“And if they find you?” 

He nearly laughs.“They won’t.” 

She makes an annoyed sound. “Fine, but I’m activating Tony’s tracking bug on your phone, just in case. I’ll show you how to track mine, too. And no one else will be able to access it, so you won’t have to worry about that.” 

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to give anyone the ability to trace him, but if anything happens, it’d be nice to know he can track her, as long as she has her phone on her. “Your phone stays on you.” 

She gives him a look, but agrees. “Now that that’s settled…” She takes his phone, and quickly pulls up an app he doesn’t recognize. Ten minutes later, she hands it back. “All done. The app is hidden. To access it, you have to swipe the screen to the right three times in a row, quick as you can.” She demonstrates. The app pops up again, showing two dots near each other on his screen. Her screen has the same two dots, plus two more over Minsk. “They can track me, I can track them, but there’s no way for them to track you. I disabled their access to your phone. Well, if I told Tony to track it, he could, on the off chance you disappear, but that’d be the only time he’d even think to try. It still works if you turn your phone off or if the battery dies. And if you think you might be in trouble, and you don’t think you can bring your phone with you,” she takes the phone back and pulls out the microSD card, pointing to a tiny black dot. “That’s a tracker. Self-adhesive. Stick it someplace they won’t find it, skin is fine, and we can locate you, okay?” 

“This common tech in Stark phones?” Bucky asks, staring at the tiny black dot. 

“No, but he worries.” She shrugs. “You probably won’t need it, but just in case, it’s there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“Your phone has one of these, too?” 

“It’s standard on this model, but these were created specifically for the Avengers and their colleagues. Virtually indestructible, advanced tracking ability, and a few other interesting features.” She puts the card back into his phone. “One last thing.. I need to change your name on the phone, and in my contacts. It’s going to get real awkward real fast if Steve glances at my phone and sees that _Bucky Barnes_ has sent me a text. Do you have a preference?”

Bucky thinks a moment. “George.” It sounds familiar, even though he doesn’t know anyone by that name. 

She shrugs, and enters it in. “George it is. I’ll change it on my phone, too. Right now, I have you in as Jim.” 

Bucky makes a face. “Not Jim. I think I had a Sunday school teacher who used to call me that.”

Amelia chuckles, then finishes with his phone, and hands it over. “There. All set.” 

He sets the phone on the kitchen counter, and starts putting together breakfast. 

****

After breakfast, they each grab a quick shower and pack their bags. Bucky grabs their bags, heading out to the attached garage as Amelia starts activating her home security device, another bit of Stark tech that Tony installed when she first moved in. As soon as she’s done, she grabs a couple of water bottles from the fridge for the drive and heads out. Bucky is already in the truck waiting for her, but he’s on the wrong side. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, walking over to the driver’s side. He is sitting behind the wheel, keys already in the ignition.

“You didn’t sleep. You’re not driving.” His tone allows for no argument, even though she’s pretty sure that he didn’t sleep much, either, so she just goes back around and climbs into the passenger seat. He uses a remote to open the garage door, and pulls out, pointing them towards the highway that leads to New York. It’s barely 1:30; they’ll reach Stark Tower by 4:00, even if the traffic is bad. 

Amelia settles back into her seat, watching Bucky out of the corner of her eyes. He moves naturally behind the wheel, driving her truck like he’s done it a hundred times before. It's an older model, and a manual, but given who he is, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Still, this truck is her baby, and she's glad to see that he isn't grinding the gears. 

He keeps his gaze circling from the road, to the mirrors, and the areas to either side of the highway, vigilantly watching for any threat. 

“So, whose apartment are you borrowing?” Amelia asks after a while. 

“Don’t know.” At her questioning glance, he continues. “There are five unoccupied apartments in the building and seven that are reserved for short term leases and are currently empty. Of those, two face the front and are positioned so I can keep watch.” 

“That’s kind of brilliant. Just don’t get caught. It’s going to be hard to post bail, or break you out of wherever you end up, without getting the team involved.” 

He smirks a bit. “I can handle it. You need to learn to put a little faith in me. Seventy years of training; good to know it can still come in useful once in a while.” 

She’s not sure if she’s supposed to laugh or not, so she just turns on the radio and sits back to enjoy the ride.


	10. Manhattan (Part II of III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of Manhattan. The final part should be up tomorrow or Monday, depending on how much time I have to work tomorrow. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, bookmarking, and subscribing. I am so grateful for each and every one of you. 
> 
> As always, I own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

The jet’s engines come to a stop, and the side door opens. Amelia takes a few steps forward, and waits. Natasha and Clint are the first through the door. Natasha looks a little battered, but mostly uninjured. Clint sports a brace on his left arm. Bruce is next, looking poorly rested. Finally, Steve walks out, leaning unsteadily on Thor for support. Tony stays close to his other side, ready to step in if necessary. 

Sam and Amelia exchange a glance. He looks bad. Pale and shaky, and in a lot of pain. But his head is up, eyes mostly alert as he seeks them out, and then smiles when he sees them. Sam and Amelia step forward together. 

“Hey. It looks worse than it is, I promise.” 

“Yeah? Because it looks like I could break you just by trying to hug you. Should you be standing?” Amelia asks. 

“No.” Tony answers. 

Steve grits his teeth. “I’m fine.” 

Amelia takes a cautious step forward. She wants to reach out, but he looks...bad. He’s paler than usual, his face pinched in pain, with bandages covering most of his arms, neck and part of his jaw. He’s wearing a loose pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt that hangs from his frame. Both belong to Thor, if she had to guess. 

“Uh, huh. We believe you,” Sam responds. “Let’s get you horizontal, dude. Medical, or your place?” 

“Mine.” They start down the walkway. Part way down, Steve reaches out, setting his hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Hey, come here.” She moves closer, and he slips his arm over her shoulders. She puts an arm carefully around his back, positioned just below Thor’s arm, who is still holding most of Steve’s weight. “I really am okay. Stop worrying.” 

Easier said than done. And it isn’t just Steve that she’s worried about, but she can’t say anything. So she just reaches up with her free hand, slipping it into his where it rests over her shoulder. “I know.” 

They walk down to Steve’s suite that way, Tony and Sam just ahead of them. In only a few minutes, Steve is in bed, lying back against the pillows. Thor and Tony left, the latter with an admonition to rest and not doing anything stupid for a few hours. Amelia takes up the spot beside Steve in the bed, sitting at his side, while Sam pulls a chair around to his opposite side. 

“Now that you’re settled, do you want to talk now or in the morning after you’ve gotten some rest? Or both, I guess, if you want both. It’s up to you. You know we’re here for you.” 

Steve weakly curls his fingers into Amelia’s. “There were videos. The others don’t know. They didn’t see them, and they were destroyed in the explosion. The things they did to him… He shouldn’t have survived. He shouldn’t have had to survive.”

“But he did,” Sam reminds him. “Whatever miracle drug Zola used on him back in the 40s, he survived all of it. And that’s a good thing, Steve. It means it’s not too late for him to get a second chance at everything, just like you got.” 

“They made him kill. They tortured him until he no longer reacted to pain. They’d hurt him, just to watch him heal. And there were tests…” He pauses. “What if they broke him so bad, he never comes back?” 

“You can’t think like that, Steve,” Sam reminds him.

“He’s right. We don’t know anything for sure yet. Until we do, you have to keep believing that he’ll make it back to you.” 

“I know,” Steve responds, fighting a yawn. His eyes start to droop a bit. “Sorry. Guess I missed my own bed more than I thought.” 

Sam huffed a soft laugh. “Get some sleep, Steve. We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Steve smiles up gratefully at them, tightens his grip on Amelia’s hand, and lets himself get pulled under. 

“There haven’t been any sightings of Bucky in the last three weeks,” Sam says softly. “It’s like he dropped off the face of the Earth as soon as Steve got out of the hospital.” 

“You’re worried?” 

“Steve thinks he broke the man’s arm. We don’t know what kind of shape he’s in, mentally, if he’d even have the mental capacity to find somewhere safe or to avoid HYDRA. And I’m not looking forward to the moment Steve has to see him from the opposite side of a battle again.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. There was enough of him there to pull Steve out, make sure he was okay, and then clear the area. He’ll turn up.” 

Amelia’s phone vibrates, and she pulls it from the nightstand before the sound can wake Steve. Speaking of Bucky...

_George: You’re late checking in. How is he?_

The change in name threw her for a moment, until she remembered changing it to hide his identity from the others. She types in a response, and hits send. When she looks up, Sam is watching her. “You have a lot of friends that text you after midnight?” 

She shrugs. “This one does.” 

"Yeah? Anyone we know?"

Amelia chuckles. "Hard as it is to believe, I do have friends outside of the team." 

"Alright, no need to get smart. Get some sleep. Looks like you could use it. I'll take first shift." 

"Super hero babysitting service. You ever wonder how we ended up here?" 

Sam laughs softly. "Every damn day. Look, I know you're not going to leave him tonight, so just bunk down. Sleep. I'm sure he'll wake you if he needs anything." 

“Thanks. And, Sam?” 

“Hmm?”

“If you promise not to say anything to the others about these texts, I’ll make you brownies.” 

His eyebrows reach the middle of his forehead. “A bribe? Is there something I should know about?” 

“No. But if you mention it, Steve will get that pinched look between his eyebrows, and tell me that decent guys don’t text women at indecent times. Tony will break every privacy law in the books to read the messages, track the guy down, and threaten him. And if it’s all the same to you, I’m not ready for him to meet the team yet, so I’d appreciate your discretion.” 

He shakes his head. “You’re dragging me into the crazy. Whatever. They better have walnuts.” 

She nods, and reaches for her phone again. 

_Amelia: I’m going to try to get a little sleep. Steve is right next to me, also sleeping. Wilson is keeping watch. We’re safe. Get some rest._

His response is immediate. 

_George: Contact me as soon as you wake up. Good night, Amelia._

_Amelia: Good night._

She sets the phone down beside her, and curls towards Steve, feeling her eyes droop. In minutes, she is sound asleep.

***

Steve wakes up, his heart pounding, his face damp with sweat. He takes a few breaths, trying to shake off the dream, and then opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Amelia, nestled beside him, her hand still held tightly in his. He loosens his grip but doesn’t let her go. 

“You awake?” Sam asks from his other side. 

“Yeah. I’m awake.” 

“Are you alright? That looked like a bad one.” 

“Nothing I wasn’t expecting.” He rubs his free hand down his face. Sam gets up, and comes back with a water bottle, top already removed. Steve thanks him, taking a long drink before setting it on the night stand. The water helps to settle his nerves a bit. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

Steve shakes his head. “I’m good. Have you been awake this whole time?” Sam shrugs. “Sam, go get some sleep. I’ll be fine.” 

“Wake Amy if you need anything. I’ll get breakfast in the morning. I don’t want to see you out of bed until at least noon.” 

Steve smiles weakly, and watches him go. He stretches a bit, taking stock of each jolt of pain. It’s better than it was before he went to sleep. He shifts, and Amelia starts to wake, lifting her head for a second before wrapping her arm around his waist. 

“Go back to sleep, Steve. You don’t get to get up yet.” 

He huffs a soft laugh, but lays back down, falling asleep in moments. 

***

Amelia wakes up first. Steve is half curled around her, arm tucked around her waist, and his head pressed to her shoulder, snoring softly. She grabs her phone and snaps a quick picture of the two of them and sends it to Bucky. 

_Amelia: He’s looking much better already._

His response comes a moment later. _George: You make a habit of cuddling with super soldiers, doll?_

_Amelia: Only the cute ones. How are things across the street?_

_Amelia: And god, that was terrible. Forget I said that._

_George: Not a chance. Everything is safe from here. Plans for the day?_

_Amelia: Just staying close to Steve. Sam is in the other room, I can hear him moving around. Steve was still pretty shaken last night. I should go, but I’ll check in soon. Let me know if you need anything._

_George: I have sufficient supplies. Keep your phone on you. If there are any threats, grab Steve and find safety._

Amelia smiles. His concern is touching, even if it is a little misplaced. She’s more worried about him, across the road in a stranger’s apartment, one eye kept on the Tower to try to keep her safe. 

_Amelia: I will. If something comes up and you decide to do something stupid and brave, just be careful, alright? I’ll talk you you later. Have a good day._

She turns off the screen, and tries to slip away from Steve, leaving him there to sleep. As soon as she moves, his arm tightens around her, and he mumbles something into her hair. 

“Steve, let me up,” she whispers. 

He lifts his head. “What time is it?” 

“Going on eleven.” 

He groans, and falls back onto his pillows. She pushes up and turns to face him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” He stretches a bit. “Sam promised us breakfast. Want to help me to my feet, and then let him know that we’re up?” 

She gives him a doubtful look. “If you fall over, I’m leaving you there.” 

Steve laughs. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Shaking her head, Amelia goes around and holds her hand out, helping to balance Steve as he pushes up to his feet. He sets both hands on her shoulders, gaining his footing. 

“Okay, there is no way this will end well,” Sam says from the doorway. 

Steve lifts an eyebrow, and takes one of his hands away, carefully taking a few steps, Amelia close at his side. He lets go of her, and takes a couple wobbly steps on his own, until Sam walked up and grabs his elbow. 

“Alright, Steve, I’ve got it. Amy, you want to go out and get a shower and some clean clothes? By the time you get back, I’ll have him on the couch and breakfast cooking.” 

Amelia leaves the bedroom, heading through the apartment and across the hall to her own room. She takes her time getting ready for the day, and then starts back over. Right now, Steve is hurting and shaken up; he wants comfort more than he wants to fight, but she knows it’s only a matter of time before his stubborn streak rears its head again.

She’s nearly out the door when it opens. 

“Hey, kid. JARVIS told me you were in here.” Tony strides into her apartment. “I didn’t get a chance to see you last night. Are you heading back in with Capscicle? Or can I borrow you for a few minutes?” 

“A quick few minutes. If you want to show me something, though, it’ll have to wait.” 

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to stop in and say hi, seeing as you entirely ignored me for Steve.”

“Tony…” 

“Nah, I get it. His puppy face was practically screaming neediness, and you can’t help yourself.” Amelia rolls her eyes, and he grins. “Seriously, I’m glad you were able to make it up here. I’m counting on you and Sam to talk him down from whatever self-righteous intentions he has where is boy is concerned.”

“We’re going to try.” 

“So, when you get the chance, I’ve made the improvements on the battery, if you want to check it out. I’ll have a prototype ready for you to bring home if you give me another couple days.” 

“Smaller?” 

“It could fit in your pocket. Doesn’t hold quite as much of a charge, but it’s enough to last 48 hours with moderate use. Good for emergencies, busy moms on the go, or camping. Portable green energy for the everyday consumer.” 

“Did you read my research?” 

“No, but Pepper did. I got the cliffnotes version. Make it. It’ll sell.” 

“That was the cliffnotes version?” 

“I was busy being brilliant. And now, it is your turn to make it sell.” 

“That’s not actually my job.” 

“It should be. If you worked for me, you could take over as the marketing director for SI. Pepper said the position was yours whenever you wanted it.” 

“I don’t want it. I don’t want to be in charge. We’ve had this discussion.” 

“I keep hoping you’ll change your mind. The R&D team will be around this weekend, too, if you want to check in on your babies. They nearly have a prototype for the bike ready.” 

“Awesome. I’ll do that later, then.” A late night brainstorming session with Pepper and wine yielded a few promising ideas for green tech geared for consumers. The battery was one of them. The bike was another. It gathered kinetic and solar energy, and used that to power the battery, useful for difficult or steep terrain, or for extended bike commutes, for city dwellers. The idea was already testing well with market groups; they just had to create a design that was both efficient and affordable, once they got the initial prototype squared away.

Amelia glances at the clock on the wall behind Tony. “I need to get back. They’ll be wondering where I am.” 

“Stop up to the labs when you can, and tell Steve that he doesn’t get you all to himself all weekend.” 

“Will do.” 

“Alright. Go on. Get out of here. Steve awaits.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “It’s good to have you here for a few days, kid. You know if you need anything…” 

“I just have to ask. I know. I’ll be up later today.” She presses a kiss to his cheek, and leaves the suite, letting Tony show himself out. 

***

**The Next Afternoon**

Sam leans forward in his chair, elbow resting on his knees. “Look, Steve, we’re not saying to give up. Just take a break, or slow down, or something. You know we support you, because we care for you. And we don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“I don’t care about getting hurt! I’ll heal. What matters is that I find Bucky and bring him home. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that he’s safe. With everything he’s lost, it’s the very least that I can do.” 

Amelia sits at Steve’s, wishing Bucky could hear some of this. They’ve been at this for an hour, first trying to get Steve to talk at all, and then trying to get him to acknowledge that his life, his right to keep living, was just as important as Bucky’s. And it’s a hard position to be in. He’s willing to do whatever it takes just to make sure his best friend is safe and sound, and Amelia could tell him that he has nothing to worry about. She could tell him that Bucky is doing alright. That he’s eating regularly, sleeping most nights, and starting to remember. 

She could, but she won’t. The pain of watching Bucky walk out of her life was still too fresh for her to risk it again. Steve might be hurting, but right now? Right now, they’re both safe. They’re both within reach. And she’s bargaining with the devil to keep it that way, but it’s a risk she’s comfortable taking. Eventually, it’s all going to come to head. But not today. Today, the people she cares about are all safe, and that’s good enough.

“You keep up like you’ve been,” Sam says, continuing with the conversation, “it might be the last thing you do, too.” 

Steve juts his chin out stubbornly. “If that’s what it takes.” 

Sam and Amelia exchange a glance. “Do you have a preference?” Amelia asked. 

“What?” 

“Do you have a preference? Sam or me? Who gets to tell Bucky that you’re dead the next time you do something stupid and you don’t make it out?” 

Steve doesn’t respond, so she continues. 

“Because I think you should let us know which one of us gets to tell him, after everything he’s gone through, and after everything he’s going through now, that he still doesn’t get his best friend back, that he’s facing a long recovery without you. How do you think that’s going to work, Steve?” Yeah, it was a crappy move, and if they weren’t trying to talk Steve out of his suicidal tendencies, she might even feel bad about it. But at this point, if it got through to him, she was okay with it.

Sam jumps in. “I’ve seen men come back, men who don’t have anyone waiting. You can’t come home from all of that without some kind of support in place, not if you want to make it. And your boy? He’s not going to get through this without you here, Steve. You want him to find his way to the other side of all this? To even have a shot at a normal life? You need to be here for him. Because Amy’s right. He needs you. Also, the thought of telling the Winter Soldier that you’re dead? No thanks, man.” Having said his piece, Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back a bit in his chair. 

Steve looks between the two of them, and shakes his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “Did you write that down first, or was that off the top of your head?" 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You know we’re right.”

Steve sobers. “Yeah. I know. I’ll try.” 

“That’s all we can ask.” 

***

Bucky uses his scope to look across the street and into the windows of Avengers Tower. Steve is in bed; he saw him go into the room and close the door behind him a few hours ago. He looks healthy again. Sam is also in bed, and his last text from Amelia was nearly four hours ago. 

They’re all safe. And he needs out for a while; staring at the same walls of his borrowed apartment for two days is making him antsy. So he slips out of the apartment and down to the street, a handful of cash in his pocket and his metal arm obscured by a light jacket. 

He sets out just to walk, but isn’t entirely surprised when he ends up somewhere in Brooklyn. The city looks nothing like he remembers, but the echoes are still there. Ghosts of his memories, dancing along the streets, just a bit too faded for him to see them clearly. 

Bucky just keeps walking. His feet know the way, even if his mind does not. He ends up standing outside an old brick building, staring up to a window on the seventh floor. 

Home. 

The building hasn’t changed much in 70 years. The window boxes are new, and the neighborhood is a bit rougher than he remembers. The fire escape hasn’t moved, though, leading right up to what used to be the bedroom he shared with his sister, so he climbs up, silent on the aging metal, until he can peer in. 

The room is an office. A desk is pressed to one wall, only a few inches right of where his bed used to be. Nothing looks the same. Even the walls are a different color. They used to be covered in a peeling blue and green floral print. 

He stares into the space, and for a moment, it feels like he’s back there again.

_“Bucky, I’m gonna tell momma.”_

_“Hush, Becky. You’re going to do no such thing, unless you want me to tell her that I saw you kissing Gus Erickson behind the school last week.”_

_She gasped. “James Barnes, you wouldn’t!”_

_“I would to, and just you watch me, unless you can keep your mouth shut about this.”_

_His sister dropped down onto her bed. “Yeah, but if they find out you skipped school, Bucky…”_

_“It was just the one day. They needed some extra help down at the docks, Becca.” He shrugged. “Steve’s sick. He needs a doctor, a real one this time, not the quack over on Timmons who is sweet on his ma. That man shouldna never got his license. It’s bad this time, and I don’t know what else to do.”_

_Becky’s face softened “I have some money in my piggy bank. Not much, but if it would help..”_

_“Nah, I got it covered.” He reached out, mussing up her long dark curls. “Thanks, Becky. I’m going to head out. Tell Ma I’m eating at Steve’s again.”_

The memory fades. Bucky curls his knees up to his chest, and leans back against the warm bricks. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen; too young to be working at the docks, anyway. He must have thought Steve was worth it. 

He eventually climbs down from the building, making his way along the familiar streets until he comes to a large, modern-looking row of townhouses. Outside is a small brass marker, declaring the site the birthplace of Steve Rogers, America Hero. The original building was long gone, but it’s nice to see that some sign of Steve’s childhood remains.

He cuts back across the neighborhood, heading back for the subway station. He’s halfway there when a half dozen young men start following him, moving closer as he travels down the street. 

Good. He’s itching for a fight.

He slows a bit, letting the men surround him. 

“Not a lot of people brave enough to wander the streets at this time of night,” one of the kids says, drawing closer. Bucky identifies him as the leader. 

“And yet, here we are,” Bucky drawls. “You want to let me get back to my walk, now?” 

“Not yet. We want your wallet.” The kid eyes him greedily. “And your jacket.” 

“You don’t want to do this, kid.” 

Apparently he does. The first three attack, and then the next three join in when Bucky proves to be more of a challenge than they were looking for. Knives are pulled (theirs, not his--he didn’t want to kill them), and by the time it’s done, two of them are going to need stitches, one has a concussion, but Bucky walks away as himself, not as the Winter Soldier. The cut along his shoulder is inconsequential. Annoying, but he’d heal. He wraps it as soon as he gets back to his borrowed apartment, and pushes the pain from his mind. Amelia will be up soon, and he has better things to do than worry about a minor injury.

***

Amelia finds Steve out in the community area on their floor. He’s sitting on the couch, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window, a thick file sitting on his lap. 

“There you are,” she says, wandering over. 

He looks up. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were looking for me.” He looks better today, the burns nearly entirely healed. He’s still wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, but the bandages are off. 

She walks over, and hands him one of the two plates. “Not a problem. Here, Sam said you haven’t had anything to eat yet.” 

“Thanks.” He slides the file over. “Not sure how hungry I am at the moment.” 

“That’s the file from the warehouse?” Steve nods. She turns over the front cover. 

“Yeah, that’s it. JARVIS translated it and printed it off for me.” 

“Mind if I look?”

He waves his hand. “It’s bad, Amy. This goes even deeper than the videos. I didn’t think I could hate HYDRA more, you know? But this... “ He breaks off, shaking his head. “I didn’t think this sort of evil existed. All I’ve seen, all I’ve been through, and this? This, I can’t wrap my head around.” He stabs angrily at his French toast. “And I let it happen.” 

“You… let it happen.” She raises her eyebrows.

“If I had tried to go after him, if we had looked for his body, maybe he would have had a chance at a normal life. HYDRA would have never got their hands on him a second time.”

Amelia nods. “Alright. And when were you going to do that?” 

Steve shakes his head, and Amelia can tell that he’s asked himself the same thing more times than he could count. “I don’t know.” 

“You spent the next two days chasing down Schmidt,” she reminds him. “Yeah, you could have saved Bucky, but you would have traded his life for millions. From what you’ve told me about him, he wouldn’t have wanted that.” 

Steve leans forward, rubbing a hand down his face. ‘Still. We left him behind. That’s-- you just don’t do that. No man left behind. If it had been me, Bucky--” 

“--would have done the same thing. He would have saved the world, even if it cost him his best friend.” 

“I know.” Steve drops his head forward into his hands. “I just miss him. All of this? It’s just not the same without him.” He looks back up, letting his hands fall away. “And now, knowing he’s out there somewhere, there’s so much about this life I want to share with him. And I can’t wait for you to meet him. You’re going to love him, Amy.” He pauses. “I wanted to ask… And you can say no. You can absolutely say no, because I know it’s a lot, more than I have the right to ask from you.” 

“What is it?” 

“When I find him, will you move in here? I could use your support, and I know he’s going to like you. Sam said he would help, too, but I’m going to need you. And he’s going to need you, too.” 

Amy fights to keep her expression blank, and just nods. “Yeah. I can stay. For as long as you need.” 

“Your boss won’t mind?” 

She shrugs. “Eh. If he does, well, Tony has been trying to talk me into working for just him for the past two years. I’d be okay with that. Seriously, this comes first.” 

She goes back to her food, and he steals a quick glance at her. He’s about to say something when Clint comes jogging up the stairs. 

“Hey, Cap. Listen, if you’re feeling up to it tonight, Tony’s getting pizza and stuff. Thought maybe we could have a brainstorming session, see what we have to do to find Barnes. I know Stark already has JARVIS working on voice recognition around New York and DC, and on every Stark phone. I’d argue with ethics, but it’s getting the job done.”

Steve looks up, the space between his eyebrows creasing. “Three days ago, you were content to leave it to Sam and I. What changed?” 

“Well, we thought he might need his space. Or maybe he was out dismantling HYDRA, which, you know, I’m happy to let him do, but with everything we found… I think it’s time he came home, don’t you?” 

“That’s-- Thank you. Yeah, that sounds good. Amy?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it, but I do have to head back home in the morning. I have things waiting on me.” She needs to get Bucky home before someone notices that apartment 762 isn’t as empty as it’s meant to be. That, and she misses him. Texting isn’t the same as talking, and she hates not knowing if he was sleeping alright or taking care of himself.

“You’re leaving already?” 

“Some of us sad people still work office jobs, Cap. I need to show up once in a while, even if I am mostly working on Tony’s account at this point.” Her boss was incredibly lenient, something necessary when you’re friends with heroes, but she didn’t want to push it. 

“Screw office hours. Be an Avenger. You can sleep in when there’s no one trying to kill you or blow shit up.” 

Amelia laughs, and even Steve smiles. “Yeah? And what’s my super power going to be?” 

“The care and feeding of super heroes,” Tony says, walking up to them. “Speaking of which, dinner tonight. Any chance I can coax you into one of those peach and ginger cakes?” 

Amelia nods. “I’d be glad to. We have the supplies in?” 

“Delivered to your suite in about,” he glances at his watch, “ten minutes. Take Capsicle with you. Sam is coming up to R&D for some work on his wings. I made a few upgrades I want him to test out.” 

“I don’t need a minder,” Steve objects. 

“I’m not your minder. Just come hang out. Keep me company. Besides, every good superhero needs a sidekick, right? I have an apron you can borrow. Not quite as cool as a cape, but…” 

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. “Sidekick, huh?” 

“I’ll let you use my favorite spatula, even. Come on. Baked goods wait for no man.” 

“Well, we’d better go, then.” Steve insists, playing along with a smile. 

Amelia winks at him, and stands. “Well, let’s go then, Cap. Things to do.” 

***

By the time Amelia brings in the cake, everyone else is already in the community lounge. Pizza arrives a few minutes later. They eat, and then get down to business. 

“We have intel coming in from every camera, hot spot, Stark and public phone. JARVIS is analyzing it as it comes in, and I’m dedicating all available resources to the search.” Tony states, pulling up a few screens. There’s been no sign of him leaving the country, so for now, we’re going to assume he hasn’t. Cap?” 

Steve nods. “We don’t know how much he remembers, if anything, but the first thing he’s going to do is gather intel. Bucky’s smart. He’s not going to just run off without some sort of plan. So, we’re looking for safe houses, either HYDRA or SHIELD, public computers accessing any relevant information, and anywhere he could find the resources he needs to survive while he’s out there. He might also try to go home, or what he remembers as home. We’re setting up cameras in a few discreet places around our neighborhood tonight.” 

“I have a few contacts in the Ukraine, Russia, and Germany, searching through a few different locations,” Natasha volunteers. “And I have friends in the intelligence community that owe me a few favors. A couple think they might have leads his time as the Winter Soldier.” 

“I’m talking to some guys at the VA, seeing what resources there are for the level of care he might need, at least for the immediate future,” Sam supplies. “We can do everything in house, but it’ll help to have someone I can call for help, should we need it.” 

"You will have assistance in any way I can provide it," Thor pledges.

“I don’t know have anything specific to add, but you have my support, and I’ll help however you need,” Bruce offers. Clint nods, echoing the sentiment. 

Steve turns to Amelia, and she nods, trying to ignore the tight feeling in her chest. “Let’s bring him home, Steve.”

He thanks them with a watery smile, and they get to work, doing whatever it takes to find the missing Commando and bring him back to Steve. 

_Fuck._ She is so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia's bike is a real thing. It's still in testing, but I stumbled across it while researching green energy ideas for this story. :)
> 
> In the next chapter: The long journey home from Manhattan. Also, a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the making of the chapter after that. Or, the bit where I argue with Steve because the man has no concept of following a plot outline.


	11. Manhattan (Part III of III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW!! 12,234 words split over three chapters, and this is the last of them. Not the last chapter in the story, though. We're just getting warmed up! 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has showed support for this fic. Seriously. Thank You. 
> 
> The mistakes are mine. Amelia is mine. Marvel owns the rest of it. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up this coming weekend, or Friday, if I get really motivated. Big Things Happen in Chapter 12. Big. Things. Try not to get too excited. ;) 
> 
> Also, check out the chapter notes at the end for a special behind-the-scenes look at the nonsense I deal with when trying to write this story.

Bucky meets her at the corner, seven blocks from the Tower. He has his backpack over his shoulder and a deli bag in one hand.

"We passed a park on the way here. I thought maybe we could stop, maybe eat lunch there,” he says, climbing in and setting the bag at his feet. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. You’re sure?” she asks, remembering his aversion to time spent outside only a week ago.

“Please.” 

She smiles, and pulls back into traffic. 

“How’s Steve?” 

“Better.” She glances over to take a closer look “He, uh, asked me to move into the Tower, or wherever he ends up, once he finds you.” 

Bucky turns to look at her. “Did he?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bucky falls silent, staring out the window. It’s several miles before he speaks again. “What did you say?” 

“I told him that I’d be there, for as long as either of you need me.” 

He turns back. “You didn’t tell him?” She shakes her head. “What’s going to happen when you do?” 

_He’s either going to hate me for not telling him, or be thankful that Bucky’s safe and only be seriously pissed off,_ she thinks. Either way, it’s not going to be good. “I don’t know,” she responds, honestly. 

 

***

The man climbs into the blue Ford, dark hair pulled back at his nape, and a baseball cap on his head. His arm is hidden beneath a jacket, his face obscured by a beard, but the Winter Soldier is unmistakable. 

The man nods to his partner and then dials a number on his phone. “We’ve got him.” 

“Good work. Tail him. See where he goes. Don’t get caught.” 

“Got it. Donalson out.”

The two men pull their tan car out into traffic, trailing several vehicles back as the Winter Soldier and his accomplice make their way out of the city. 

***

They pull off the highway about 45 minutes before they reach Eddisburg. From the highway, they can see a few picnic areas and a pavilion, but once they park, Bucky leads them up through the woods until they are overlooking a small stream. He carries their lunch, while Amelia carries the emergency blanket from the trunk. She spreads it out beneath a tree, and sits down. 

It’s beautiful. The spring mud had given away to green grass and flowers; everything was green and new. Bucky was leaning back against the tree, setting up two paper plates with their lunch.

“I miss the city sometimes, but I never regret leaving it,” Amelia says, spreading out on the blanket, aware of Bucky’s gaze on her.

“It’s quieter here. Fewer threats. The city is...exhausting.” 

Amelia rolled over, taking note of the dark circles beneath his eyes and the pale cast to his face. “Didn’t get much rest?” 

He ignores her. “You’ll have to sit up if you want to eat.” 

She rolls her eyes, smiling playfully, as she pushes back up. He hands her a plate and a can of Pepsi. “Thank you for this, by the way.” 

He shrugs. “You paid for it.” 

“Not the point, Bucky.” She takes a bite of her sandwich. “Oh, this is good. Denelli’s. I’ve never heard of them before. Where are they?” 

“Brooklyn. They changed their name back in the 60s, and I think they moved over a few blocks. But I recognized the smell of the bread.” 

“When did you go to Brooklyn?” 

He gave her a look. “Right before you picked me up. And really early yesterday morning. You were safe. I… I wanted to see it.” 

“You didn’t have to go alone.” 

“I think I did,” he says. “It helped. I was able to sort things out a bit. I think I found the apartment I grew up in.” 

Amelia nodded. “Steve said it was still standing. His place burned down in the late 40s, only a few years after the war.” 

He nods. “Five blocks to the left, two to the right. Past Mr. Miller’s grocery and the soda shop. Ten minutes if I run.” He pauses. “Don’t know if I’d let kids run free on the streets anymore, though. It’s not like I remembered it.” 

She glances over. “Did you run into any trouble?” 

He shakes his head, and his lips twist up. “They changed their mind as soon as I fought back.” 

“Back alley fighting your first time back to Brooklyn? Weren’t rescuing blonds again, were you?” 

He huffs in amusement. “Not this time. Stevie wouldna stood a chance against these guys. Two of ‘em pulled a knife.” He shakes his head. “Idiots. Lucky they didn’t cut themselves.” 

Amelia hides a smile. It was moments like this, when he slipped into his Brooklyn accent, a little bit of the man he was before pushing through, that gave her hope for his future. He was doing better than just functioning, doing more than surviving. These little moments? They were proof that he was recovering. 

They finish eating and gather up the wrappers. Amelia stretches out again on the blanket, letting the warm May sun soak into her skin. Bucky doesn’t move from his position by the tree until Amelia pats the space beside her. “Come on. Come enjoy the sun with me.” 

He moves to lie beside her, and she laces her fingers in his. “I missed you.” He squeezes her hand in response. They say nothing for a long moment, content to lie there and let the silence linger comfortably between them. Bucky runs his thumb over the back of her hand, his rough skin scratching along hers in a way that has become familiar. 

***

Donalson stares over the ridge at the Winter Soldier and the female. He’s seen a lot of things in his time with HYDRA, but the scene in front of him still catches him by surprise. The Fist of HYDRA, the greatest weapon of the last 70 years, is lying in a clearing in the woods, holding hands with an unknown woman. He’s been emotionally compromised. And, other than the woman, who doesn’t seem to be a threat, he is alone. 

“We’re going to bring him in,” he tells his partner. 

“Are you nuts?” 

“All we have to do is disable him. He might be HYDRA’s master weapon, but he’s still human. We only need a couple good shots. He’ll heal. The girl will be easy to secure. And if we have her, we have him. He won’t leave her.” 

“What are our orders?” 

Donalson shrugged, nonplussed. “Whatever. We could have done it.”

***

Her hands are cool. The sun is warm, but there is still a hint of spring chill in the air. A different man would offer her his jacket. A different man wouldn’t have to wear a jacket to hide the sheen of his metal arm.

“What did he find in the warehouse?” he asks.

“There was a file. Videos. And the, uhm, tools. They were still there. Some other stuff.” 

“The chair?” His voice wavers. He swallows hard, trying to push back the emotion pushing at his throat.

She nods. “And a cryofreeze chamber.” 

When he doesn’t respond, she turns to look at him. “Bucky?” 

“I didn’t want him to know.” The words slip past his lips, unbidden. 

She squeezes his hand. “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.” 

No. That’s-- That’s not quite it. Ashamed wasn’t the right word. What he felt when he thought of Steve looking through those files, it was something deeper. He didn’t want Steve to know, not because of what it meant to him, but because of what it would mean to Steve. Bucky survived. Steve would lose track of that, and see nothing but the suffering. “I didn’t want him to know what made me. He shouldn’t have to know that.” 

***

Amelia doesn’t know what to say, so she just lies there beside him, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. Three days away from him, and she doesn’t want to let go. She had expected to miss him. She hadn’t expected to spend every day wishing she could call him without JARVIS picking up on his voice signature. She hadn’t expected to turn around expecting to see him, only to realize each time that he wasn’t there. 

Time goes by, neither of them moving, and then Bucky tenses, rolling towards her until he is nearly pressed into her body. His head drops down, lips ghosting against her ears as he speaks. To anyone watching, it is an intimate moment between lovers. Amelia sees the darkness in his eyes, though. There’s nothing romantic here. Something is wrong. “There are two shooters at ten-o-clock. I’ll take care of them. Find cover.” 

“Bucky--” 

“You’ll be fine.” He hooks the fingers of one hand beneath his shirt, and when he pulls them out, they hold a small handgun. He it into her hands. “Just in case.” 

“You have others on you?” 

He just smirks. “Go.” 

Amelia rolls up to her feet, ducked low, and starts running as the gunfire starts behind her. She slips behind a tree, leaning back. Bullets dig into the ground near her feet and she feels the vibrations as they hit the opposite side of the tree. At least one shooter is aiming for her. She stays still, tucking in her elbows a little tighter and adjusting her grip on the gun. She hears a soft grunt of pain, the timbre familiar, as quiet as it is. Bucky’s hurt. She is about to duck back out and make sure he’s okay, but then she hears two more grunts, both from where the shooters are standing, and neither one is his, so she forces herself to stay still. 

The whole thing is over in minutes, the forest falling silent. Amelia takes a deep breath to calm her racing heart, and peaks around the tree. 

“It’s safe,” Bucky calls out. 

She steps out. Bucky is standing across the clearing, atop a small hill, staring down at the two bodies by his feet. “HYDRA. If they followed us this far, there could be more coming. I’ll hide the bodies; you clean up the blanket. We need to go before someone notices that they’re missing.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Operational,” comes his vague reply. She eyes him carefully, but he’s still facing away from her, disarming the bodies and preparing to move them. She turns away, quickly gathering their things. A few minutes later, Bucky came back over to her, one arm held close to his side. 

“We should go.” 

“You’re hurt.” 

“I can make it to the truck. Quiet. I need to listen for any other HYDRA agents. Stay behind me, and stay alert.” 

As he draws closer, she can see the blood starting to soak through the dark material of his shirt. 

“I have a first aid kit in the truck,” she says softly. He nods brusquely and takes the lead, bringing them through the trails and back to the waiting vehicle. He climbs into the driver’s seat as she pulls the first aid kit out from behind her seat. 

Amelia gently lifts his shirt away from the wound. The bullet had gone through his side, leaving a deep groove but not hitting any organs. 

“I have an antiseptic spray. It’ll sting, though. Do you want to wait until--” 

“Just do it.” 

She nods, and pulls the cap off, spraying a light mist over the wound. She wipes away the excess, places several layers of gauze over the wound, and then tapes it all in place, running her fingers along the tape to soothe it down.

“That’ll hold until we get home. Is there anything else I can do?” 

He shakes his head, reaching over to squeeze her hand, not caring that it is still sticky with his blood. “Thank you.” 

They are only a half hour from her house at this point, but Bucky turns off a at different exit, pointing them towards the far hills. She just sits back, keeping a close eye on him, trusting that he knows what he is doing. 

***

Bucky drives them an hour out of their way, twisting and turning his way through a few small towns and along some straight country roads. He concentrates on the mission. Get Amelia home safely. Avoid detection. Anything to distract himself. HYDRA found him. They found him, and they found Amelia. And if he gives into panic, he can’t protect her.

There’s no one trailing them, so he turns the truck back towards Eddisburg. He knows her neighborhood, knows every car that belongs in each driveway. He drives around, sweeping the area for anything out of place. When the reach her home, he tells her to stay put, gun in hands, truck doors locked, until he has the chance to sweep through and make sure the home is secure. 

Three hours after they left the park, they are both in the house. Amelia slips her arm through his and guides him to the bathroom. 

“Shirt off, Bucky. I need a better look at your side.” 

This isn’t going to go well, not when she sees the knife wound along his shoulder. But she’s gently lifting his shirt, her finger soft against his skin. Reluctantly, he reaches down and yanks the shirt over his head, ignoring the way that the movement tears at both wounds. He’s had worse. These will be healed and gone in less than a week. 

His gaze catches in the mirror. For the last month, he’s made a habit of not looking at the mess of scars where his left arm used to be. With a shirt on, he can keep it separate. There’s him, and then there’s his arm. It’s there, but it’s not him. 

But looking now, there’s no denying it. There’s a mass of scar tissue, rough, ugly skin tracing down into his chest, and then there’s the permanent reminder of his blood-soaked past. 

He shudders. 

Amelia looks out from behind him. “Are you okay?” Her fingers press warmly into his side. He glances down. She’s already removed the first bandage, and is now gently removing the dried blood along his side with a warm, damp washcloth. She meets his eyes in the mirror, and then catches sight of the knife wound on his shoulder.

“What is that?” She moves behind him, and then pushes him down onto the toilet seat so she has better access. “Bucky, what happened here? This isn’t a bullet wound. This is…” Her eyes meet his in the mirror. “Brooklyn. This is Brooklyn, isn’t it? Were you going to tell me?” 

“It’s healing. I’m still operational.” Bucky takes a deep breath, then lets it out. He concentrates on the feel of her hands on his shoulder, gently assessing the wound. Anything to keep him centered. It’d be too easy to slip right now, let the Asset deal with the pain and let him protect Amelia. Bucky fights it. The Asset’s skills are his own, and he is no stranger to pain. 

Amelia’s fingers are trembling on his skin. He stands, and pulls her into his arms, unmindful of his bare chest. 

“Amelia, I’m okay.” 

Her arms come around him, taking care to avoid his wounds. “I know.” Her head rests on his uninjured shoulder. “I know you’ll heal quickly, but I care about you. You matter, Bucky. And seeing your shoulder, after everything today, and after everything with Steve? I don’t need any more hurt friends right now.”

Jesus, he hadn’t thought of that. His injuries, coming so close after Steve’s close call? “I’ll finish this up. Go pick out a game, or a movie. Whatever you want.” Tonight, they’ll stay close. Inseperable. She needs the reassurance, and so does he. 

He takes a last look in the mirror, seeing Amelia’s head resting against the scars and metal. She isn’t pulling away, and he struggles not to jerk back from her touch there. His gaze drops, hiding the sight, and he briefly presses his face against the top of her head. “We’re okay. Go find a movie. Your pick. I’ll be right behind you, alright?” 

She nods against his chest, and steps back. He sags as she leaves the room, everything overwhelming tonight, when he needs to stay unemotional and unaffected. Two things he can’t seem to be around Amelia. He glances back to the mirror, and gives his reflection a helpless sort of look.

HYDRA found him once; it’s only a matter of time now until they find him again. Steve and his team are amping up the search, too. And here he is, hiding from all of it. Living the suburban lifestyle with a woman who seems to have more loyalty than sense. 

He’s running out of time, and he knows it. He’s just not ready to give up his life here to face the inevitable fallout of the last seventy years of his existence. 

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Steve:_ I’m going to do a thing. 
> 
> _Me:_ No. No, Steve. Don’t do the thing. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re seriously going to mess up the next few plot points. 
> 
> _Steve:_ Relax. It’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. 
> 
> _Me:_ Steve, we talked about this. Remember Minsk? Minor injuries, Steve. You were supposed to be banged up a bit, but basically fine. See how that turned out? 
> 
> _Bucky:_ I told you. Punk hasn’t changed at all since Brooklyn. You aren’t going to talk him out of it. Hand to god, doll, I’ve tried. I should tell you about some of the nonsense he used to get up to with the Commandos. You know what you should never do? Leave Steve and Dernier alone for two hours with a stockpile of explosives. Steve was missing his eyebrows for a week. 
> 
> _Steve:_ That only happened once, and I can tell when you’re trying to distract me, Buck. It’s not going to work. I’m doing it. 
> 
> _Bucky:_ (hands over his half-empty carton of Ben  & Jerry’s) I tried. Here. This’ll help. Just don’t tell Thor you have it. I liberated it from his freezer this morning. 
> 
> _Me:_ You two are going to be the death of me.


	12. Suspicion and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late. Sorry, guys. But the chapter turned out to be a whole lot longer than I was anticipating. The next chapter is short, already prepared (95% prepared, anyhow), and will be up on Friday. 
> 
> I just want to thank you all for reading this, commenting, leaving kudos, and subscribing. You all keep me motivated to keep going. Thank You!! 
> 
> I leave for a two-week vacation in just under two weeks, and I don't know how often I'll be able to post while I'm gone. But, I have many, many hours in the car to look forward to (blah), so I'll have plenty of time to write, at least. I'll try to get at least one chapter up while I'm gone, and another as soon as I get home. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Amelia is mine. Everything else belongs to Marvel. 
> 
> Also, it's late, and this chapter is a little under-edited, so it probably has more mistakes than normal. I'll go over it again tomorrow, once I've had a bit of sleep.

Life goes back to normal. 

Granted, it is their version of normal, with Bucky waking up in the earliest hours of morning with a nightmare, and hyper vigilance every time an unknown vehicle goes by. Their first few days home after Manhattan have shades of the first few days of Bucky’s stay. His wounds are healing without her care, but he lets her fuss over him anyhow. She needs it, and he kind of likes the feel of her gentle hands on his skin. They lay awake late into the night, his hand holding tightly to hers as he tries to pretend that he’s okay. She’s pretending to be okay, too, so she doesn’t mind. She calls a half dozen times from work for the first several days, making sure that he is safe, and letting him know that she is safe, too. Steve calls every couple of days with updates, but he isn’t making much progress. There’s no sign of HYDRA, either, although no one is doubting that it’s just a matter of time on both counts. 

So, life goes back to normal. They trade off who is cooking dinner each night. Amelia teaches Bucky how to make a strawberry pie. He tells her, in halting words, about the war. He doesn’t remember the Commandos, not yet, but he remembers a man named Tommy who he met in training. She holds him when he remembers watching the boy die beside him the first time they face enemy fire. 

A week and two days go by. It’s Wednesday again. Amelia comes home early from work, like she does every Wednesday, bringing lunch with her. They are just cleaning up their plates when her phone beeps. Amelia lifts it from the coffee table, and looks at the screen. 

“It’s Steve. He’s Skyping me.” At Bucky’s blank look, she explains. “The video chat app.” 

Bucky nods and quickly stands, grabbing their plates, and making a beeline for the other room. Amelia waits until she hears the dishes clatter into the sink, and then sits back down on the couch and opens the call. 

Steve is leaning back against his kitchen counter. When she comes up on his phone, a flicker of a smile crosses his lips. 

“Hi, Amy. Is this a good time?” He rubs along the back of his neck with the hand not holding the phone. 

“It’s fine. What’s up?” 

“I’m leaving this afternoon for another mission. No radio contact for a week. I just wanted to check in first, let you know where I was.” 

"You're going out again already?" She’s surprised. When he’s injured on a mission, he usually gets two or three weeks of to recuperate, even if he doesn’t physically need them. 

"I'm healed, and we're still down Clint. It's another retrieval op, but we're going to be backpacking through the middle of nowhere." He grins. "I'm kind of looking forward to it. It's just Nat and I. The others are all staying behind." 

Yeah, she couldn't see Tony out camping by choice. "Be careful this time, yeah? And while I’m glad for the heads up, you don’t normally video call me before missions.” The unspoken question hangs in the air for a moment. 

Steve's smile touches a bit too close to brave. She knows then that something is up. “I just wanted a friendly face.” 

She leans further back into the couch. “Alright. Talk.” 

He takes a breath, and lets it out on a sigh. “We had a hit with Bucky.” 

_Shit._ “Did you?” 

“Right after I got back. It’s not much, just a reflection in a window in Brooklyn, but it’s him. He disappeared right after, though. But, he looks well. Functioning. More than I could have hoped for.” 

“That’s good, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, but it’d be better if we had any idea where he went after.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Sam and Clint are walking the streets, trying to find him. Asking around. But, if they find him, I might not be there. And I should be. I should be the one doing this.” His smile is self-depreciative. “And I can’t. Not for the next week.” 

Amelia knows what he’s asking. She trusts Sam and Clint with Bucky, but he wants her there, too. “If they find him, I’ll be there. But where the heck are you going that you won’t have any way to receive a signal? I didn’t think there was any place on earth where Stark tech didn’t work.” 

“Even if I can get a signal, there won’t be any way out. Not until the mission is complete.” 

“I’m sure it will be okay. Worry about getting home safely. Let the rest of us worry about Bucky for a few days, alright?” She stands, heading towards the kitchen, taking the phone with her. She’s halfway across the room when Steve’s voice stops her. 

“What happened to your wall?” 

“What?” She turns, remembering the hole Bucky put in the plaster. “Oh. That. It’s nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like someone put their fist through it. Is there something I should know about?” 

Amelia freezes, a half dozen excuses circling her mind, none of them good. She forces a smile, and shrugs. “Steve, it’s really nothing you have to worry about.”

Steve continues talking, ignoring her response. The concern in his eyes kills her. “Is there somebody giving you trouble? If you need help, you know you can call us, right? Or just go to the Tower. Stay there until I get back, and then I’ll deal with it. Or I’ll call off the mission. I can be there tonight.” 

She says the first thing that comes to mind. “Spiders. I had spiders in between the walls. The exterminator had to get in there to get rid of them.”

He looks doubtful, but nods. “Uh-huh. If there’s a guy giving you problems, Amy--” 

“Then I could handle it. You don’t actually think I’d just let something like that slide, right? Give me a little credit.” 

“Just, remember that you can call us if you need to.” 

“I know. And I appreciate it. But I’m okay. Besides, when would I have time to date someone? If it’s not work, it’s something else.” 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I get that. Did I tell you Natasha is still trying to set me up with someone? I finally gave in and went on a blind date before the last mission.” 

“Yeah? Was she nice?” 

“She was a darling, but the date was a disaster. I felt like she thought I was an idiot. Pretty, and a national hero--she definitely seemed to like that--but simple minded. I had to tell her three times that, yes, I did actually know how to use modern technology. Also, she was very forward.” He grimaces. “Handsy.” 

“The struggles of being six-foot tall and gorgeous. I have a lot of sympathy for you.” Amelia grins, glad to be back on safer ground. 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, well, I’m not going on another one anytime soon. Not until Bucky’s home.” 

“You can’t stop--” 

“--Living my life. I know. I’m not. But how am I going to find time to spend with a girl if Bucky needs me more?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s a right answer for any of this. Just do it day by day, and trust that it’ll work out in the end, right?” 

They sign off soon after, so Steve can prepare for the mission. Bucky waits until the phone is back on the coffee table before he walks back in.

“Spiders, huh?”

“First thing that came to mind.” 

“You’re a horrible liar,” he smirks, shaking his head a bit.

Amelia just shrugs. “So is Steve, but he’s also horrible at telling when other people are lying, so I think it worked.” 

“He still suspects something, though.” 

“Yeah.” An abusive boyfriend, which means it’s only a matter of time before Steve tries to dig a little deeper. They’re going to need to be careful. “Did you catch the part where they got a reflection of you off a window in Brooklyn? Steve has Sam and Clint walking the streets, trying to find you.” 

“They won’t find much,” he replies evenly. 

“Eventually, they will. Just like eventually, HYDRA’s going to show up at our door,” Amelia reminds him.

“I know,” he says, staring at the floor, shoulders tense.

Amelia steps forward, and then leans against him, keeping him present. “I trust you. And if we’re lucky, maybe the Avengers will come knocking before HYDRA does.” 

He’s not entirely certain that they have the same definition of luck, but he nods. 

“And if we have to,” she continues, “we can just let them all fight it out while we slip out the back.” 

He laughs a little and wraps an arm around her. “Quite the strategy there, love.” 

“I have my moments.” She frowns. “The thing with HYDRA, though… Are we safe here? If we have to leave, we can. I trust your judgement.” 

He barely meets her gaze. “If I wasn’t here, they’d leave you alone.” 

Amelia’s smile is wistful, and doesn’t reach her eyes. “I think we both know that it’s gone past that point. They’ve seen us together. And what makes you think I’d let you leave alone? If you run, I’m going with you.” 

His eyes widen slightly, and he studies her face. “Do you mean that?” 

“I do. You’re not alone, Bucky. Haven’t been since the moment you showed up on my doorstep. If you leave, I’ll go, too.” 

***

Bucky pulls her close, feeling her pressed against his chest, and tries to stop a shudder. A braver man, a better man, would have left by now, drawing trouble away. He wasn’t that better man. He’d stayed. And despite everything, he didn’t regret it. 

“We can stay. They won’t do anything too visible, which means I can take care of it.” His eyes slip to the wall behind her. “We really do need to patch that hole, though. I’ll prepare a list of supplies we’ll need.” 

She blinks, and pulls her head back a bit to stare up at him. “You know how to patch walls?” 

He shrugs. “You can find anything on Youtube.” 

“Hearing you say that is so surreal. Seriously. So weird.” 

He smiles a bit, and holds her a bit tighter before stepping back and letting her go. “A ninety-years-old amnesiac soldier-slash-assassin with a metal arm shows up on your doorstep, and you invite him to move in, but me watching videos online is weird?” 

“Fair point.” 

***

Bucky lays on the couch, listening to a rerun of an old sitcom while he stares at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the weight in his chest. When he glanced in the mirror that morning, he didn’t see himself as HYDRA, as an extension of their power. He saw a man. Scruffy. Eyes a bit too wide as he met his own gaze for the first time in a really long time. His hands gripped the counter, and he stared. Somewhere along the way, in the time since his escape, he started accepting that he was more than they made him. 

Except, the man who stared back at him wasn’t who he is now. He doesn’t look like the Asset anymore, but he doesn’t look like Bucky, either. Not who he was in the 40s, and not at all who he is now. 

It takes him until mid-afternoon to work up the courage. He borrows a pair of scissors from the drawer and Amelia’s shaving cream from her shower (tropical pear scented), and opens the package of razors Amelia bought his first morning here. He starts with his beard, trimming down the hairs as short as he can before he starts to shave. Fifteen minutes after he began, he’s examining his newly-smooth face in the mirror. Satisfied, he picks back up the scissors, takes a chunk of hair in hand, and starts cutting. 

***

Amelia walks into the kitchen, and stops cold. “Bucky?”

He is washing a pan, his face half turned away from her. What she can see, though… He turns, gives her a nervous little smile. She can follow the curve of his lips, see the cut of his jaw and the cleft in his chin. 

“It was getting too hot,” he says, and she watches a hint of red travel up his neck. His hair is shorter, too, stopping just below his ears, a little longer in the back. He’s styled it, pushing it back from his face with a bit of gel. 

“You look.. great,” she says, aware of the slight breathlessness in her voice. “Really great.” She tilts head a bit. “Bit less homeless," she teases. 

He nods, and ducks his head again, going back to the pan. Amelia moves closer, and he looks back up, drying his hands as he turns to face her. She starts to lift a hand, then pauses. “May I?” 

He meets her gaze, and nods, a tiny movement she might have otherwise missed, had she not been watching for it. He’s nervous, and that realization makes her breath catch. Her hand comes up, resting on his cheek, and for the first time, there is nothing but skin on skin. Whether because of the shave or because of the situation, this feels almost intimate. He is gazing down at her, something unreadable in his eyes. She glances away, looking at his hair instead, as she moves her hand, fingers gently pushing through the shorter locks. 

“This is so different. Do you like it?” she asks, bringing her eyes back to meet his. 

“Yes.” He clears his throat, and catches his lower lip between his teeth. “It.. It feels like me.” 

Amelia smiles. “Good. You look good like this.” She lets her hands fall. “I’m going to start bringing in the stuff for the wall.” 

“I’ll get it after we eat.” 

“I’ve got it.” 

“Then watch dinner for a second. Don’t let the Alfredo burn.” 

“Bucky--” 

“Watch the sauce,” he calls, already heading towards the door to the garage. Amelia watches him go. He looks younger without the beard and long hair. His hair isn’t as short as he used to wear it, not even close, but it’s a lot shorter, and a lot neater looking, than it was when she left for work this morning. The change is astounding, and looking at him, she can’t help but think that it was more than just the warmer weather inspiring the new look. It’s a step forward, and a big one. 

She can’t quite hide her smile as she goes into the kitchen to stir the sauce. 

***

“Alright, how are we doing this?” 

Bucky looks up from the tablet. “I’ve watched this video a dozen times. I've got it. Grab the replacement piece and a pencil.” 

Amelia grabbed the piece of drywall, cut at the hardware store to be just a few inches bigger than the whole in any direction. He lines it up evenly with the hole, and then steps aside just enough to allow her to slip under his arm. “Hold this here.” 

She moves in close, placing her hand against the drywall patch to keep it still while he traces around it with a pencil. She steps back, and he uses box cutters to cut along the line drawn onto the wall. 

In little time, the patch is in place and secured with drywall tape. Amelia applies the setting compound, then scrapes off the excess. She is sweating slightly in the warmth of the home, and even though her hair is tied up, one strand has escaped, sticking to the side of her cheek. She has a bit of plaster dust in her hair. And Bucky can’t take his eyes off of her. She looks good like this, a little ruffled, a little determined. He likes her like this. And being able to do this with her, being allowed to help, he likes that even more. It makes everything feel real.

That’s another change, over the past few weeks. This is starting to feel less like a borrowed life, something he only gets to sample before it’s taken away again. This house feels like home. Putting the work into fixing the wall feels good in a way he can’t explain. Working with Amelia, whether to patch the wall or cook or tackle the Sunday cleaning list, feels good, too. It feels like life. It feels like a second chance. 

And if he is wrong, if this life is too good to be true, if it’s all going to be ripped away from him like a cruel joke (because, god knows, he doesn’t deserve any of this), then he’ll trade every moment of his future for this, right now, here with a gal who has dust in her hair and a smile on her face as she looks up at him. 

He holds to this moment, memorizes every detail. When the world realizes its mistake, when it realizes he’s living the life that should belong to someone else and fate corrects itself, then he’ll have this memory to cling to, and that’ll be enough. Just knowing that, for a brief window of time, he had this, will be enough to get through whatever is waiting. 

But, for the first time, there is a glimmer of hope. There is some small part of himself, buried deep in the tortured confines of his soul, that stares out through his eyes and asks ‘what if?’. 

What if he could keep this? 

***

For as difficult of a client Tony can be, Amelia sometimes forgets that he is, in many ways, really easy to get along with. There’s nothing like a long morning with a stubborn and pissed-off client and a mess created by the junior marketing team to bring a sharp reminder of that fact. 

She kicks her shoes off as she walks through the door, sets their lunch on the counter (rarely was she ever more thankful for early Wednesdays), and throws herself face-first onto her bed. Bucky follows her in, stopping just inside the door. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She grumbles something into her pillow, but lifts one hand to give him a thumbs up. The bed dips as he sits down beside her. “Rough morning?” 

Amelia rolls over, coming to a stop with her ribs pressed to his thigh. “That’s an understatement. A client’s project fell apart at the last minute. It was bad. I almost didn’t get the afternoon free; wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t part of my contract with the company.”

Bucky frowns, and pushes a piece of hair back away from her face. “Did you figure something out?” 

“I think so? Everyone agreed with it, anyhow. If I get any angry calls later, I might pretend to not be here. We’ll just let it ring, okay?”

Bucky smiles and holds out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Food's gonna get cold with you just lying here. Let’s put in a movie and you can relax for a while.” 

The first touch of a smile twists her lips up a bit, and she sets her hand in his. His fingers tighten around hers, and he stands, pulling her up with him. He doesn’t let go until they reach the kitchen, and even then, the warmth of his hand still lingers on her skin. 

Amelia pulls up the in-demand movie listings, and starts flipping through, her plate balanced on her lap. 

“What’s The Time Traveler’s Wife?” Bucky asks. 

Amelia shrugs. “Complicated. It’s good, though. Bit violent in a few parts.” 

He smirks a bit, and casts her a sidelong look. “I think I can handle it.” 

“It also makes me cry. I can’t seem to get through this one without crying, and given the last few hours, I’m probably going to cry a lot. Is that going to bother you?" 

He just shakes his head. “It’s fine, Amelia. Few tears never hurt anything.” 

Midway through the movie, their plates are sitting on the coffee table, and she is pressed against his side, his arm draped over her shoulders. He pulls her a bit closer every time he notices her eyes start to get wet. 

He’ll deny ‘til his dying breath that his own eyes misted up in a few scenes, too. 

By the end, her head is pillowed on his thigh, her tears leaving a wet spot on his pants. There are a few tears on his face, too, but it doesn’t matter, because her hand is in his and this pain is superficial, even if it is bittersweet and powerful enough to twist around in his gut. It’s shared, though, proven by her tears, and there’s a sort of connection there. It doesn’t feel like weakness.

They’re just settling into another movie, a comedy this time, when there is a rumble of an unfamiliar vehicle coming up the road.

Bucky jolts. "Steve's bike just pulled in the drive." 

"What?" She glances over, and watched him park his motorcycle. "There's a panic room off the back of my closet. Tiny lever three fingers up, right next to the shoe rack. Unless you want to do this now?" He shakes his head. Amy nods, and starts gathering up the dishes, tossing the extras into the oven just as the doorbell rings. 

He’s standing there, helmet in hand, with Captain America written all over his face. 

“Steve! Hi! How was the mission?” she asks, giving him a huge hug. He tightens his arms around her, and it’s a long moment before he lets go. 

“Come on in.” She steps back as soon as he releases her, opening the door and waiting for him to come in. 

“The mission went smoothly. No unexpected problems, just in, out, and on our way home.” 

“Glad to hear it. Can I get you anything?” 

“No, I’m good.” He heads towards the living room. “Huh. You got the wall fixed?” He sounds almost disappointed. 

Amelia shrugs. “I know a guy.” 

Steve’s gaze circles the room. “The same guy who left his jacket over the back of your chair?” 

She glances over, sees Bucky’s jacket, and bites back a curse. “Steve…” 

“So, there is a guy, then. Would this be the same guy who was texting you in Manhattan?” 

“Wilson owes me brownies,” Amelia grumbles under her breath. 

“Sam’s involved in this?” 

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’, and then exhales on a sigh. She hates lying to him, and this mess with Bucky is turning into one very long string of lies. But at this point, it’s better to just go with it, and ask forgiveness later. “Steve, yes, I met someone. Yes, he texts me, and he let me borrow the jacket. It rained a couple nights ago; he was being kind. Yes, he patched the wall, but he didn’t make the hole.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His face betrays the emotion he’s trying to hide in his voice, eyebrows drawn together, shoulders slightly hunched forward. 

“Because I wasn’t ready for that yet. I’m still not. Introducing someone to you is a big step, alright? I’ve only known him since the middle of April. I don’t think he’s ready for a family dinner at the Tower just yet.” 

“Is it serious?” 

“It might be. I don’t know yet. With everything going on, I really haven’t given it much thought. It’s been kind of busy.” 

"What's his name?"

"George. His name is George. And that's all I'm telling you." 

“George? You don’t hear that name very often anymore.” 

“He was named for his grandfather.” So, she lied about not telling him anything else. And she is going to keep lying, apparently.

“Huh. Where does he work? Where is he now?” 

_Upstairs, hiding in my closet._ “He works in securities,” kind of true, “and he’s probably at his office. And, no, you can’t go track him down. You don’t get to go all Brooklyn on this, Steve” 

“Brooklyn?” Steve’s lips quirk a bit. 

“That thing you do. My love life isn’t a back alley, and you don’t get to show up and pummel the guy until he promises to treat me right.” 

“That’s not what I’d do.” The look on his face says otherwise. “Does he know about us?” 

“Yep.”

Steve nods, satisfied. To him, that’s the end of it. If you know that your girl is friends with the Avengers, you treat her right, or you get whatever is coming to you. Amelia appreciates his concern, would probably appreciate it more if there actually was an actual mystery boyfriend, though. 

“Alright. One last question. Are you happy? With him, I mean. Does he make you happy?”

Amelia considers, feeling a small smile spread across her lips. “Yeah. He does.” 

“Then that’s good enough for me.” Steve reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. “I look forward to meeting him.” 

Amelia manages a weak nod. “Thanks.” She walks out to the kitchen, him following behind. “So, how are Sam and Clint making out?” 

He sits beside her at the kitchen island. “They’re back at the Tower. There was no sign of Bucky anywhere. We’re back to square one.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I think he’s close. We’ve seen an increase in activity from HYDRA cells in the area. They’re looking for him, too. I just want to find him before they do. Or at least find a way to let him know that he’s safe with us, that we’ll protect him, give him a safe place to stay. Tony said he has a couple of places around the city, and elsewhere, where he could stay, if he isn’t ready to stay at the tower. I don’t know what he’s going to need, but I’m going to make sure he gets it, whatever it is. I just want to know that he’s safe.” 

Amelia reaches out, squeezing his hand. “I know. Um, when you said HYDRA is more active locally?” 

“We’ve seen more activity in the last two weeks than we have in the month before that. They’re organizing, getting ready for something. We just don’t know what.”

Amelia thinks she could make a good guess. “You think they’re getting ready to take Bucky back?” 

“That...seems likely. We just need to find him first.” 

“Keep me posted?” 

“Yeah. I can do that. Thank you, by the way, for everything. You have no idea how much it means, having your support and friendship though all of this. After everything with SHEILD, learning who I could trust, who I can’t, and you’re the one person that I’ve never doubted.”

Amelia swallows hard, and hopes Steve doesn’t notice the way her neck heats up. If he only knew, he might feel different. “Really, it’s nothing. But, thank you. Your friendship means a lot to me, too.” 

He squeezes her hand. “I’d offer to take you out for dinner tonight, but I have some meeting in Washington this afternoon.” 

“You came all this way to tell me that there’s no news, and to only stay for a half hour?”

He shrugs, grins. “It was on my way.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, I had to make sure you were okay. I know you said that there was nothing to worry about, but I had to see for myself. Tell George that I look forward to meeting him.” 

“I will.” 

He stands, and pulls her to stand beside him, giving her one last tight hug before snagging his helmet off of the kitchen counter and heading for the door. She waits until he is gone before she goes to get Bucky. She’s not entirely surprised to find him already in the living room, waiting for her, when she turns around. 

***

Bucky has his ear to the floor, listening to the exchange between Amelia and Steve, emotions warring. On one hand, being this close to Steve, close enough to hear his voice, close enough to call out and be heard, is making his heart race. He’s torn between wanting to say something and wanting to slip out the back and hide until he’s left the neighborhood. If pressed, though, if Steve started up the stairs, he knows which impulse would win out. He’d be out the window before anyone could find him. 

But on the other hand, Amelia has Steve convinced that she has a mystery boyfriend, and Steve bought every word of it. But he still can’t stop the way his breath catches when Steve asks if she’s happy, or the way something in his chest loosens a bit when she says yes. 

But then Steve mentions HYDRA, and the way they’re starting to gather, planning to find him and bring him in. Except, Bucky knows that it won’t take long to find him, if they haven’t already. He’s out of time. A week, maybe two, and he’ll have to decide. Face HYDRA alone, or reach out and ask for Steve’s help to keep Amelia safe. He has his number. Maybe just a text message, something to tell him to come get Amelia and take her back to the Tower. Let her go, and join her when it is safe again. Take HYDRA to the ground as soon as she’s safe. He has enough intel that he could do it, and they gave him all the skills he’d need to complete the mission. 

And for the first time in forever, he’d have someone to go home for. And, he realizes, he could. With HYDRA gone, he would be redeemed. He could return to Steve as, maybe not a hero, but not as a villain, either. And he could return to Amelia, knowing that she was finally safe. 

Steve’s bike pulls out of the drive, so he goes back downstairs. He reaches the center of the room just as Amelia turns around to face him. 

They stare at each other. 

“I heard,” he says, after a moment. 

“I thought probably.” She pauses, as if weighing her next words, before a crooked little smile twists on her lips. “Well, _George_ , I think we’re going steady.” 

It’s not what he is expecting, the bit of levity surprising him. He barks a laugh. “I guess so, seeing as you already have my jacket. If I knew that’s what we were doing, I woulda left behind the good one.” 

“That’s alright. I’m not picky.” She laughs a bit, then sobers. “We’re going to have to tell him eventually.” 

She’s trying to sound casual, but her eyes are telling a different story. He’s known how hard all of this is for her. She’s loyal to Steve. Cares deeply for him. Bucky can hear it every time she mentions him, and in the way she talks to him. And yet, she’s lying to Steve, over and over, for him. Putting her friendship on the line. 

“He’ll understand.” 

Her smile is a little off, more than a little forced. “I hope so.” 

***

The next afternoon. Bucky watches from a second-story window as an unmarked black SUV drives through the neighborhood. HYDRA has found them, but for whatever reason, is yet to act. Amelia is at the grocery store, gathering the last few things she needs for dinners for the upcoming week. He kneels beneath the window, struggling to breathe. His chest is tight, and he can’t seem to get a breath. Panic. It’s a panic attack. He knows this, but it feels like he’s going to die anyhow. He half stumbles, half crawls to the bathroom, making it just in time to get sick in the toilet and not on the floor. After the first few times, there is nothing else to throw up, but it takes another twenty minutes for the dry heaving to stop. He curls up on the bathroom floor, shivering and terrified. Out of time. 

By the time Amelia comes home, his is sitting on the couch, trying to act like nothing is wrong. The Asset knew how to do this, so he tries to tap into that. There’s nothing she can do, and he doesn’t want to scare her. Not yet. Not until he has a plan, something more useful than just sitting here, waiting for them to arrive. He has two options: Call Steve or take them out alone. He gives himself two days to make a decision.

***

That night, he wakes up screaming. 

Amelia is up late in the office, finalizing details for a client report. At his scream, she rushes to the living room, grabs a gun from beneath the couch, and is running down the hallway before she can stop to think. The cry coming from her bedroom is barely human. It’s the sound of a tortured animal, and for a moment she is certain that someone is trying to kill Bucky. She releases the safety, and swings the door open. 

What she finds is somehow worse. He is curled up tightly on one side, head bent into his knees like he is trying to protect himself. She puts the safety back on, and sets it on the dresser, out of immediate view. Bucky screams again, and she drops down next to the bed. She knows everything that could go wrong, but right then, her only concern is waking him up. 

“Bucky. You’re safe. Wake up. Come on. Open your eyes. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” It’s not helping. She calls his name louder, and he is still unable to pull himself from the dream. So she does the only other thing she can think to do. Approaching from behind him, she settles herself down against his back, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing herself against him. Her face is near his ear, close enough for him to be able to hear her. 

“I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe, and I won’t let them hurt you. They can’t touch you. No more pain, Bucky. I’m here. Shh.” 

Slowly, bit by tiny bit, Bucky wakes. His body relaxes, even though the painful shudders persist. Amelia continues to whisper reassurances, still holding him, and after several long minutes, he opens his eyes.

“Bucky?” 

He turns to her, burrowing his face into the small space between her neck and shoulder. His arms come around her, clinging as hot tears soak her night shirt. “Don’t send me back.” 

“You’re safe. I’m not sending you back, and they won’t get you. I promise. You’re safe, Bucky.” She knows as she says it that she had no way to back up her words. They need to get Steve involved. It’s time. 

Bucky relaxes against her, but he doesn’t release his grip. She soothes her hands through his hair and down his back, surprised at how chilled he feels. With one hand, she grabs the comforter and pulls it up over them, and he shudders in relief. 

“God, Bucky. What did they do to you?” She murmurs softly, not expecting a response. He pushes even closer to her, something that she thought wasn’t possible at that point. 

"When a weapon fails, it needs to be recalibrated. To improve performance for the next time,” he say simply, as if repeating an oft-heard phrase. There is a moment of silence, and then in a softer voice, “It hurt.” 

This time, she is unable to blink back the tears. She sets her face against the top of his head, and prays that he won’t notice. No such luck. When she sniffles, he pulls back and looks at her. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

She shakes her head, and pulls him back to her. “No. No, you didn’t hurt me, Bucky. I’m sad because they hurt you. They were wrong. You aren’t a weapon. You’re a man. And they didn’t have the right to make you hurt.” 

He curls his hand into her hair, and cries harder. 

***

He can’t stop. He can’t even fucking breathe. Everything is falling to pieces around him, and all he can do is hold on to her as he lets go of everything else. The dream was part memory, part flashback, and part nightmare, his broken mind taking everything he’s gone through and twisting it into something worse. 

He can still feel the dream’s icy talons curled into his chest; the pain of a recallibration session. Order Through Pain. Obedience, too. They would push his body to the limit, past the point where he would hope for death, hope that his abused body would finally break badly enough that there would be no hope. The Asset hadn’t understood life, not really, but it knew death all too well. Longed for it. The only feeling that had never been burned out of him. 

Now, he has something to fight for. A future, however tenuous. The Asset wanted to die. Bucky? Bucky wants to live. 

***

“Call Steve.” 

Amelia looks up from her breakfast. “Bucky?” 

“Call him.” He looks miserable, but determined. “It’s time to call him.” 

She nods, and reaches out, setting her hand over his. It’s a move not unlike his first night with her, when she reached out to him over beef stew. And just like the first time, he turns his hand over, grasping to hers. But this time, he doesn’t let go, trembling fingers holding firm. 

“Do you want him to come?” Amelia asks in a soft voice.

“No. No, not yet. Just.. Tell him they know where we are. And… And tell him I’m alright. That I’m doing alright.”

“Okay. It might be better if video call him. Easier to explain, maybe.” 

Bucky nods. “Whatever you think is best.” 

“After breakfast, then.” 

He nods again, swallows hard, and stares at his plate. 

“Hey, we’re in this together, right? He’s going to be thrilled that you’re okay. And whatever happens next, we won’t be doing this alone. It’s going to be okay.” 

***  
Amelia sits down in her office, unlocks her phone, takes a deep breath, and starts typing. 

_Amelia: We need to talk. Are you free this afternoon?_

_Steve: I’m free now. Calling._

_Amelia: Better on the cams, I think._

_Steve: Give me two minutes. Should I be worried?_

_Amelia: No. I just want to talk. But it is important._

_Steve: I’m logging in now._

The screen lights up, and it’s not Steve staring back at her. Captain America is firmly in place. 

“What’s wrong? Is it George? Did he do something?” 

Amelia swallows. “It’s not-- Well, no, it’s not what you think. Turn on your privacy features. I don’t want this to go beyond us. Not yet.” 

She sees a muscle in his jaw tick, but he does as she asks. “Do I need to come out there? I’ll borrow the jet. It’ll only take me a half hour.” 

“No! No. Don’t come out. I’m going to show you something. You’re not going to panic. You’re not going to freak out. And you are absolutely not going to show up here. Not yet. Not until I tell you that it’s okay. You have to trust that I know what I’m doing.” Even if she really, really doesn’t. 

“Amy, I don’t know if I can promise that. If you’re in danger--” 

“I’m safe. I promise.” 

He doesn’t look like he believes her, but he nods anyway. “Alright, I promise. No freaking out, no interfering.” 

“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath, and pulls up a picture of her and Bucky on her phone, one from their time at the park coming back from Manhattan, and then holds it up to the camera, letting him see. 

Steve goes very quiet and very still. 

“Steve?” Amelia asks, setting her phone back beside her. 

“That’s--” He stops, and it looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Bucky. Bucky is-- You’ve seen him. He-- Amy--” 

“He’s safe.” 

“Where?” His voice cracks. 

“Here. He’s here, with me.”

“How long?” 

She winces. It’s turned into an interrogation, not that she expected anything better. “Since two weeks after the Triskelion, minus one day.” 

He goes silent, just staring at her. She can’t interpret the emotions on his face, so she looks down, staring at her hands instead. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. He wasn’t ready.” 

“Is he hurt? Are you? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” 

She shakes her head. “No. We’re both okay.” 

“Amy--” He breaks off. “How did you find him? We’ve followed every lead, searched every place he might have gone. How--”

“I didn’t. He found me. He saw a picture of the two of us, from the opening gala for the Tower. He tracked me down from there. I still don’t understand. But he showed up on my back porch in the middle of the night, asking if I knew you.” 

“Let me see him.” The words are a broken plea. 

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Where is he now? Can he hear us?” 

“No. I think he’s out on the back porch. He didn’t want to be here for this.” 

Steve nods. “He knows you’re contacting me?” 

“He asked me to.” 

“But...he doesn’t want to see me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing!” His outburst startles them both. Amelia jerks, flinching back into her seat. 

“Oh, god. Amy-- I’m sorry,” he says, his expression apologetic. He roughly shoves a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “This is just-- I wasn’t expecting this. To be searching the globe for him, only to find out he’s been with you this whole time. Is he okay?”

“He’s alright. Doing better than he was. He still has trouble sleeping, and sometimes he has flashbacks. Nothing uncommon, all things considered. His memories are starting to come back.” 

Steve’s expression is heartbreaking, torn somewhere between desperate hope and anticipated pain. “Has he-- Does he remember me?” 

“Yeah. He remembers you. Some of it, anyhow. Enough to know you matter to him. And he remembers his mom and Becky, a little. Some stuff about the war. A few other things. Most of his memories are of his time with HYDRA. Even with that, though, he hasn’t remembered much.” 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?” 

“Steve--” 

“Why? Please, whatever it is, I can handle it. I just need to know.” 

“He hasn’t said. Not really. But I know part of it is that, the things he remembers? Most of them aren’t good. And with everything he’s read about you, everything he’s remembered? I think the thought of you, of facing you, terrifies him.You’re the embodiment of good, and he only remembers being not good. So, he’s unsure. It won’t be like that forever. He’s come so far. But for now, let him come to you. He will. And until he does, he’s here. He’s okay.” 

Steve nods, eyes bright. And then his eyebrows furrow. “So, wait. That jacket. The texts. He’s George.” He looks so utterly baffled, and a bit miffed, that Amelia has to choke back a laugh. 

“Yeah. He’s George.” 

“You’re not really dating though?” 

She smiles a bit. “Just friends. He heard our conversation, though. He was upstairs. I teased him about going steady, and he said he would have left a better jacket behind, had he known.” 

Steve’s smile is desperate and brave. “He’s really there with you?” 

Amelia thumbs through her phone again, pulling up a picture they took together a week ago, standing in front of the newly painted wall. Her hair is in a messy bun and she has a swipe of blue paint on her cheek ( _“You’ve got a little something. Let me just… Oh. I think I made it worse.”_ ), and he has a few drops of paint in his hair and along the front of his shirt. Still, he has his arm over her, and they are both smiling into the camera. She smiles fondly at the image, and then holds it up, letting Steve see. 

Steve’s lifts a hand, tracing the picture of his friend from his own screen. His eyes are wet. Amelia waits for his gaze to drift back to her before she lowers the image. 

“I’ll send you some of the ones I’ve taken, but that picture is my favorite. That was a good night.” 

“He looks good. More like I remember him.” 

“He isn’t. Like you remember him, I mean. He’s changed.” 

Steve nods. “I have, too.” A moment ticks by before Steve talks again.“George was his father’s name.”

“He doesn’t remember anything about him. I don’t think he remembered his name, but he was the one who suggested George.” 

“Tell him that his father was a good man. Hardworking, but he always made time for his kids. Bucky looks like him more than he looks like his mom.” 

“He’ll be glad to hear that. Thank you.” She pauses. “He thinks HYDRA knows where we are. Whatever they’re planning, he’s not sure he can stop it.” 

Steve tightens his jaw. “What are you still doing there?” 

“He was hoping maybe you’d be able to send a few people this way, maybe discourage HYDRA from attacking. Or, at least, give us a better idea of what we’re up against.” 

“Amelia--” 

“I know. I told him I’d follow his lead, wherever he wants to go, and he thinks we should stay. I think… This feels like home. Maybe he figures HYDRA has taken enough, and they shouldn’t get to take this, too. Is there anything you can do?” 

“I’ll round up the team. We’ll plan an attack. It won’t stop them, but it’ll buy you some time.” 

Amelia nods. “Thank you. I should go. I’ll keep you updated.” 

“Yeah. Tell him I miss him, but I’ll wait, as long as he needs me to. And if he needs anything, he only has to ask.” 

“I will.” 

“And, Amelia, we’re going to talk about this. It’s been six weeks. I could have died. My team members could have died. And he was there, with you.” 

Guilt turns her stomach to lead. “I know. Steve, I’m--” 

“That said, he looks like he’s doing better. And I know you’ve helped with that. So, thank you. But you still should have told me.” 

She nods stiffly. “I need to go.” 

“I know. Take care of him for me. And see what you can do to get him to at least call me.” 

“I will. Be careful when you go after HYDRA.” He nods, and she signs off. 

She sits there, knees pulled up to her chest, trying not to think about the look on his face when he signed off. He was upset with her, but at least he knows that Bucky is okay. And, as soon as Bucky is ready, he’ll have his best friend back. And that’s good enough. He’d come around. She knows that. 

Didn’t make the disappointment in his eyes any easier to see, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the cat's out of the bag! I'm not thrilled with the ending, but there it is. 
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Glaring mistakes? Please drop a comment and let me know!


	13. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on a finished chapter for a day. That's _hard_ for me, people. I couldn't wait to share this one with you. 
> 
> This is a short chapter, by my standards. Just over 5,000 words. And it's pivotal; the events here are going to echo for a while. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your kind words and other shows of support for this story. I love writing it, and it means a lot that you all enjoy reading it. Please keep sharing your thoughts! :) 
> 
> I own nothing but Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

“Don’t you have any good music?” Bucky complains from the kitchen. It is his turn to make dinner, and Amelia is fighting to stay out of his way. There was ample cursing earlier when the fire alarm went off, but he’d glared at her when she offered her help. So she sits in the living room with a file from work, making notes and trying to unwind. At Bucky’s complaint, Amelia smiles. It’s been a good day today, then if he feels safe enough to complain about something so small. She grabs her iPod and browses through her music apps until she finds one with a 40s station. Amelia turns it up a bit and then hits play. It takes the ex-soldier a moment or two to register the change, and then he appears in the entryway. 

“Have you played this before?” 

She shrugs. “Not this song specifically, I don’t think.”

Bucky just smiles a bit, and closes his eyes. “I remember. I remember this.” He opens his eyes, and moves across the room. “Dance with me.” He holds his hand out.

The song playing sounds familiar, something from a late-night movie soundtrack, maybe, or something her parents might have once played. It has a steady rhythm, something big-band. It was probably a popular song, back in Bucky’s time.

She doesn’t dance. Never has. And she can’t explain her reasons; she wouldn’t know where to begin. But he still stands there, looking down at her, metal hand extended towards her, and she wishes she could sink into the chair and disappear. 

***

He recognizes the flash of panic on her features, and he suffers a wave of doubt. This is wrong. What did he do? Why is it wrong?

“I don’t dance,” she says. He should pull his hand away. But some part of him is desperate. The music is helping him to reclaim part of who he is, and he remembers dance in the same way he remembers the song. He remembers the feel of holding a woman in his arms as the band plays. A flash of a memory comes to him, and for just a moment, he is Bucky Barnes, pre-war, pre-Soldier. Just Bucky. It’s unfamiliar, but it’s nice, and he wants to hold to it for just a moment. 

“Everyone dances, doll.” He hears the uncertainty in his voice. The words sound wrong. The memory fades, and, finally, he lets his hand fall. He has dinner to make, anyway. 

She calls out just as he turns away, standing behind him. “Bucky, wait.” He turns. “I can’t-- I’ve never danced. Not really. Will you teach me?” 

He holds his hand out, cursing the metal but forcing a smile just the same, and she places her hand in his. He pulls her closer, positioning her in his arms just so. She’s uncertain, skittish under his hands, but be can feel the heat of her body as it radiates between them. “It’s easy, love,” he soothes. “Just follow me.”

He starts to move, his arms guiding her, and, slowly, he feels her relaxing into his touch. He steps just a bit closer, and adjusts his grip on her until she is only inches away. It feels right. They move to the rhythm of the song, and after a few moments, she stops staring at her feet to look up at him. Her lips curve into an uncertain smile. 

“You’re doing fine. You’ve really never danced before?” 

“Not like this. I mean, a one-off with Steve at the gala, but it was just one song.” She shrugs. “I missed prom, and the opportunity hasn’t come up since.” 

“You’ve been dating all of the wrong men, then, if none of them are taking you out dancing.” 

She makes a noncommittal humming sound, ducking her head back down again. He senses the pain in the gesture, and it triggers a responding ache in his chest. He reaches down and gently places his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face until she meets his eyes. 

“I’m honored to be the first, then.” He takes the last small step towards her until her head is resting on his shoulder. The next song starts, something soft and slow. He can smell the light floral scent of her shampoo, and her hair tickles against his chin. The corner of his lips turn up. 

And right then, he can’t help but wish that he’d met her before. That he could be standing here, holding her, as a war hero, or even just as a boy from Brooklyn, and not the villain. Not the Winter Soldier. He wants to show her who he thinks he might have been. Instead, she gets the broken assassin, a half-man who struggles to do something as simple as get through the day without a panic attack or flashback. 

But this--the simple act of holding her in his arms, moving to the music--this is what he has to offer. This, and his protection. He’s not stupid; he realizes that HYDRA is an ever-looming threat, even with Steve’s assistance, and her willingness to open her home to him has made her a target. So, no, he may not be who he was before, but he would use all he is now to keep her safe. 

That song ends, and another begins, this one a little faster. His body starts moving before his mind can catch up, and he starts leading Amelia through a simple series of steps. He explains each move as they go along. She stumbles a bit at first, blushing each time, but by the end of the song, she’s grinning and keeping up with every twist and turn, even if she is still a bit clumsy with the footwork. The song ends, and he steps back, a tiny smirk dancing on his lips. 

“You’re a natural, doll.” A moment passes. She is still in his arms, still looking up at him. And he panics.” I should probably get back to dinner. Wouldn’t want it to burn.” He turns, and head back to the kitchen, thoughts racing. He’s nearly out of the room when Amelia calls out. 

“Bucky?” He turns back. “Thank you.” 

He nods, and feels heat burn along his neck as he goes back to finish their meal.

***

Steve’s phone dings with an incoming message. 

_Amelia: We danced._

Steve smiles down at his phone, and sets it back on the counter. She’s been sending short updates every evening since she called him about Bucky, a handful of words, sometimes more. It’s been two weeks since she called him, and while they haven’t had a chance to talk over the phone or video chat again, the updates, insights, and occasional pictures is the one thing he wakes up looking forward to each day. 

Bucky is safe. He is well-cared for. And he is with someone Steve trusts implicably, in spite of everything. It’s not what he wanted. It’s still not what he wants. He still thinks of a half dozen things every day that he can’t wait to tell Bucky about or introduce him to, and it’s not him. He doesn’t get to do any of it. 

But that’s okay, too. He could get over that. What he can’t get over is the way Amelia held his hand, telling him that Bucky would make it back to him eventually, and offering to do whatever it would take to help reunite them, only to find out that she already knew where he was. She could have brought Steve to him then, or at least let him know that Bucky was alive. Something. A text. A note. Anything. He could have stayed away. He could have acted like his friend was still missing. As long as he knew that the other man was safe. 

So, yes, he still trusts Amelia with Bucky. He’s flourishing under her care. But that doesn’t mean her betrayal doesn’t hurt, and all the more because it was from the one person he thought would never betray him.

As far a everyone else knows, he’s still searching. Sam is the only one who knows the truth. The attack on HYDRA went off without a hitch, and Steve destroyed anything that might give away Bucky’s location. He’s okay with waiting. Tony might feel differently, when he learns that the ex-HYDRA assassin is living with Amelia. He doesn’t understand their connection, and he’s still disappointed that Amelia didn’t say anything, but telling Tony right now wouldn’t help anything. So when Tony stops down to the community room to say that they still don’t have any leads, Steve nods, thanks him, and seals his lips. 

Steve leaves the tower, walking out a half dozen blocks before calling Sam. “Hey. Got a minute?” 

***

Sam Wilson shows up at her office the next morning. Amelia can’t say that she’s surprised to see him. 

“So, George, huh?” Sam says, walking in. “I’ve gotta give you credit. I knew you were hiding something, but I never thought it was the Winter Soldier.” 

“He has a name,” she retorts. 

“I know. Sorry. So, Bucky Barnes. How is that going?” 

“Better than we all thought it was going to. No destructive urges. No tearing apart the furniture. Almost shot my neighbor, but that was a one-off, and she never knew, so…” 

“Yeah, that’s not concerning at all.” 

She sighs, and gives him a look. “How long did it take Steve to tell you?” 

“About three days.” There’s a hint of a rebuff in his gaze. “You know, you could have told me. I could have helped. If nothing else, I might have had some ideas to help him.” 

“I know, but it really hasn’t been like that. We get through the tough bits together, but other than that, it’s all very...domestic. Weirdly so. I’ve seen the footage, you know? It’s hard to equate that guy with the man who made stuffed peppers and fruit salad for dinner last night.” 

Sam blinks. “That’s, uh, I have to be honest. That’s not what I was expecting to hear.” 

“What did you think the situation was? Him hiding out in my basement, unable to function?”

“Well, no...” 

“It hasn’t been easy for him, but he’s come a long way since he escaped HYDRA’s clutches.” 

Sam nods. “I’m glad to hear it. How can I support you in all of this? There are resources on PTSD that I could bring up, or email you. I can put you in touch with a few experts in this area. Or, if you need someone to talk to, you can call. Any time. If I’m not in a session, I can make time to talk. It’s not easy, being a caretaker in this sort of situation. I mean, we have family support programs at the VA, too, if you’d be interested in something like that, but I don’t know if there are any local programs.” 

“I don’t know if family support is necessarily accurate here. I’m just a friend.” 

“Yeah, but to Barnes, you’re more than that. His world is very unstable right now. You’re providing a safe environment, and the security he needs. That’s a big job. Have you talked at all about introducing him to Steve again?” 

Amelia sighed, and pushed her hair back from her face. “Truthfully? I try not to bring it up. He agreed to let me tell Steve that he was safe, and to give him regular updates. We’re closer, but he’s not there yet.”

Sam nods. ‘Alright. Look, for what it’s worth, whatever you’re doing, from what I can tell, it seems to be working. Steve said you got him to dance?” 

She smiles a bit. “He asked me, actually.”

“Proving my point. You’re helping him. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you, got it?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sam.” 

“Not a problem. I need to get going. I have a few sessions scheduled this afternoon that I need to get back for. It was good seeing you. Stay in touch, yeah?”

Amelia agrees, and he leaves her office. She sits back in her chair and lets out a slow breath. She’s glad Steve reached out to Sam, his promise to keep their secret be damned. Steve spent too much time locked in his own head, and if he didn’t have a release for his thoughts, they tended to spiral downwards, often bringing him with them. She’s had a few desperate late-night calls from him, when he managed to break through, and a few times, had to figure out for herself that something was wrong, digging her heels in as stubbornly Steve, not budging until he started talking. 

Steve reaching out to Sam was a good thing. She’d worried that he was going to cut himself off again over this, and has never been more thankful for the veteran’s involvement in Steve’s life. 

***

It was Amelia’s turn to cook, and she had said, before leaving for the morning, that she needed to stop for groceries on the way home. Still, when she wasn’t home on time, he started counting every minute, pacing between the front door and the windows overlooking the driveway, from the living room out into the hallway, and then back again. Something has happened. HYDRA has her. Or a car accident. A fire. A new scenario plays itself out with each pass along his route, each worse than the last. So by the time she finally pulls into the garage, he is shaking. Ice traces along his spine, numbing him. It sharply contrasts with the sweat breaking out all over his body. She walks in, arms laden with grocery bags, but she takes one look at him and all but drops the groceries on the floor. 

“Bucky? Are you with me?” 

He struggles to respond, the words stuck in his throat. She approaches slowly, closely watching his expression as she moves to stand in front of him. 

“Bucky, I’m going to touch you now. If that’s not okay, shake your head, or step back.” 

He steps closer, desperate for contact. When she touches his face, he turns into her hand. 

“You’re like ice,” she says softly. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up, alright?” She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs and towards her bedroom, straight into her bathroom. She snags a blanket from the closet as she goes past, then sits him on the toilet and wraps it tightly around him. She starts the water, and then goes back to kneel in front of him as the tub fills. He inches forward, until he is kneeling, too, only inches from her. He opens the blanket, and pulls her in, taking in her warmth. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s still with him. He holds her against him, folds his head down to rest against her, and cries, everything coming out in choked sobs as the words still won’t come. She seems to understand, though, and wraps her arms around him, whispering soft words of comfort. 

It’s nice that she understands, because he doesn’t. He spent the whole day feeling off, but it wasn’t anything like this. Low-grade anxiety. He ignored it, going about his day as he normally does, working out in the basement (Amelia put mats down to go with her old treadmill), making a light lunch, and the lounging around until she gets home. He knew she was getting groceries, and she’s been late before. And he still fell apart, giving into mindless panic. There was no reason for his reaction. It was another frustrating setback. One good night, and it all crumbles apart again. 

He just wants his life back. He’s tired of feeling helpless to his past. 

Drained, his sobs die down, and he rests his head wearily on her shoulder. Amelia must have reached out at some point to turn off the faucet, because the water is no longer running. One of her hands cradles the back of his head, scratching lightly against his scalp. The other rubs circles into his lower back. The pressure and heat feel good. He shifts a bit, giving her better access. 

“Better?” she asks, after another few minutes.

He nods into her shoulder. She pulls back a bit, and he sits up, roughly running the last few tears from his cheek. Her shirt is wet, he notices. 

“Did you want to take a bath while I start dinner?” 

He turns, giving the tub a long glance. It is a clawfoot tub, huge and full of bubbles. A gift from Tony’s girlfriend, Amelia explained, for her birthday last year. Something about relieving the stress of working with Stark. It looks warm, and that is exactly what he needs right now: something to banish the last of the chill. He turns back to her and nods, then pushes to his feet, and offers her his hand. She stands, squeezes his hand, and then steps back. 

“Go ahead and get in. I’ll grab you a towel and a change of clothes.” She leaves the room, and he quickly strips down, neatly folding his clothes and setting them on the back of the toilet before sinking into the water. His nerves tingle in the heat, muscles relaxing. Amelia comes back in, and he sinks, hiding his shoulders beneath the bubbles. She sets his clothes and towel on the counter, and then kneels down beside the tub. 

“Is it warm enough? Too warm?” 

He shakes his head, and she stands to go. Without thinking, he reaches out with soapy fingers, closing them gently around her wrist. “Stay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nods. 

“Let me go grab a chair.” He reluctantly releases her. She’s back in less than a minute, chair tucked under one arm, a cup and a washcloth in the opposite hand. She positions the chair near his head, and sets the other two items beside her on the floor. He feels her hands run through his hair and he leans back into her touch. 

“Can I help you with your hair? My mom used to do that for me, after I had a bad day at school.” He nods, so she picks up the cup and starts pouring warm water over his head, talking all the while. “She used to tell me that the bad days were what made room in your life for good things. There had to be a balance. And every time you had a bad day, it expanded your capacity for joy. You can’t understand what it is to be happy without understanding what it is to be sad, she’d say.” 

“Do you believe that?” he asks, his voice thick and scratchy from the tears. 

“Yeah. I do.” She starts shampooing, fingers massaging his scalp. He groans slightly under her touch. “And I think, for everything you’ve been through, there’s going to be a whole lot of joy someday to balance it out.” 

His eyes fall shut, rather than to risk crying in front of her again. Why does hope hurt so badly? He wants to believe, though. 

“Has it balanced out for you?” he asks, thinking back to the loss of her parents. 

She’s quiet a long moment. “No,” she says finally. “Not yet. Someday, though.” 

Except he hears in his voice that she doesn’t really mean it, and his chest aches with the realization that she doesn’t believe that she will find that happiness, even when she believes so strongly in it for him. He reaches out again, his hand seemingly having a mind of its own tonight, and slips his hand over hers. She stills. 

“You, too,” he says. 

“Yeah. Me, too.” She still doesn’t believe it, and he wonders why, but it doesn’t seem like the time to ask, so he lets it go. 

She starts rinsing, the warm water flowing from the top of his head and down his neck. He’s still submerged deeply enough to hide his shoulder from her. This is a good moment, and he is trying to feel like a man again. He doesn’t need the truth of his past staring them both in the face. She notices, though. Of course, she notices. She finishes his hair, and sets her hands on the side of his neck, gently working the muscles there. He can’t stop the whimper that slips past his lips. 

“Does this hurt?” 

“The arm. It’s heavy.” A deadweight at his side. The strain on his muscles is a constant ache, but one he’s accustomed to. Still, he inches up a bit, putting her hands lower and closer to his shoulders. She is kneading into the muscles at the base of his neck, and he tilts his head forward, letting her work. 

She continues, her hands never moving lower than what he has above the line of bubbles, forcing him to move up slightly every few minutes. He feels years of tension start to release as she works through each knot. 

Until her pinky finger brushes against the scars on his left shoulder. He jerks, all but submerging himself under the water again. 

“Sorry. Is it too sensitive there?” 

“Not-- Not exactly. I just… the scars. I’m--” 

Her hands slowly reach under the water, rubbing along his neck again. “I’ve seen them.” 

“I know.” 

“But I’ve never touched them before. Not like this.” 

He nods. 

“Can I?” 

Bucky stills, and tilts his head back to look up at her. “Why would you want to?” The scarring, the place where he ceases to be human and becomes HYDRA again, isn’t fit for her touch. 

“Please.” 

He sits back up, shoulders finally completely free of the bubbles. She continues working along his muscles, retracing the places she’s already tended to. And then she reaches the scars again, slowing to run her fingers over the raised seam connecting flesh and metal. They trace over the scars. He fights the urge to pull away. 

“It’s really not that bad,” she says, after a few moments. “You can see here, along the back of your shoulder, where the arm pulls enough to have torn skin and where they damaged the tissue connecting the metal. It’s about the same as along the front.” She continues her touch, and he starts to relax. “Do you want to know what I see? I see the marks of someone who survived. They are a symbol of your strength. But, beyond that, they don’t make you who you are. Same goes for your prosthetic. This doesn’t determine how loyal you are, or how smart you are, or how much courage you have. This,” she says, setting her hand on the metal of his shoulder, “is a part of you. But it’s not all of you.” 

He tilts his neck until he is resting his head against her arm. “It’s HYDRA.” 

“The arm?” 

“They built it. It’s their tech inside. Their star branded onto it.” He closes his eyes, final words laced with pain he doesn’t remember how to hide. “Still their fist.” 

She stills, falling silent. Finally, she stands up. “Finish washing. Get dressed, everything but the shirt. Let me know when you’re done.” She squeezes his normal shoulder once, and then leaves the room. 

Her voice held a weird tone, something he didn’t understand. His comments upset her. He finishes and dries in a hurry, then throws on briefs, socks, and the sweatpants she brought in as the tub drains. He runs shaking fingers through his hair and then opens the door. She silently takes his hand, and leads him to the center of the room. And then she turns, stopping in front of him. 

“Touch me.” 

He freezes, unsure of what she is asking. 

“Bucky, it’s okay. Just reach out.” 

So he lifts his hand, his flesh and bone hand, and sets it on her shoulder. 

“And the other,” she prompts. 

He hesitates, but eventually brings it up to set it on the opposite shoulder. She sets her hands over his, squeezes both sides, but then takes the first, and lowers it back to his side. He watches her face, trying to guess what she is up to. Meanwhile, she seems content to just wait in silence.

His metal arm doesn’t have sensation in it like a normal, human arm would have. He can sense pressure. Hot and cold, but not pain. Amelia feels warm. He brushes his thumb against her skin, and she nods. Emboldened, he runs his hand gently along her arm, and then he lifts his hand, using the metal fingers to push a strand of hair from her face and then rests them against her cheek. His other hand is shaking. He still doesn’t understand, but her small smile encourages his movements. 

She nods to the mirror along the wall opposite them. It’s the one from his bedroom, borrowed for the occasion. In it, he sees a weapon placed against the cheek of a woman who is so very breakable. 

He thinks maybe she sees something else. 

She takes his hand in both of hers, holding it between them until he looks back down to her, his gaze questioning. 

“When you touch me, you are gentle. You’re kind. Caresses, not strikes. HYDRA didn’t teach you that, and yet, this arm is just as capable of kindness as your other arm is. HYDRA may have crafted the fist, but they don’t control it. You do. This isn’t theirs anymore. It’s yours.” She pauses, as if debating her next words. “And, when you feel comfortable with it, Tony would probably jump at the chance to build a new one. No more HYDRA tech. Personalized however you’d like it. Lighter and easier to handle, for sure. As for the star, I know someone who would love to give you a new paint job.” 

Bucky lifts his hand from Amelia’s face, and flexes his fingers, bending and straightening them, listening to the tiny gears shift with each movement. He makes a fist. Releases it. And then, heart pounding, he reaches out again, metal fingers cradling around the back of her neck. A touch of pressure, and she steps forward. He brings his other hand back up, and wraps it around her. She rests her head against his metal shoulder, and wraps her arms around his upper waist. He remembers too late that he is shirtless. She’s wearing a t-shirt, her mostly-bare arms against his skin, her hair brushing against his chest. Some long-lost part of him can admire the situation; the rest of him is just happy for the touch, and for her belief in him, both given without reservation.

He considers the rest of her comments. A new paint job. He thinks he could agree to that. The thought of a new arm makes him uncomfortable. He didn’t trust HYDRA, but he had no choice. Here, this time? He does. He doesn’t know Stark. Doesn’t trust him, even if Amelia does. So, maybe he’d consider it at some point down the line, but for now, he’d rather stick with the enemy he knows.

Finally, Amelia pulls back. “Alright, I’m starving. It’s too late to cook, so how does Thai sound? And I have a cheesecake for dessert.” 

Bucky nods. “Thai would be good.” 

“Great. Go finish getting dressed. I’ll put the mirror back and meet you downstairs.” 

They spend the evening on the couch, both absorbed in their own books, but Amelia’s feet rest on his lap, and his hand rests lazily on her legs, occasionally rubbing along the material of her jeans, reassuring him that she is still there. 

***

“No, no. You need to hop over the goombas. You can’t just plow into them.”

“This game is ridiculous.” He glares at the screen, as if he can intimidate it into submission. 

“It’s a classic. Now, shush. It’s my turn, and you’re going to mess up my concentration.” 

Bucky huffs. Amelia pulled this...console...out of her attic after she got home from work, excitedly setting it up while he watched on, unimpressed. He was easily less impressed once she turned it on. It was a Super Nintendo, whatever that was, and while he thinks Bucky Barnes might have enjoyed these games once, the Soldier in him is questioning their relevance to anything. After dying thirty seconds into the last level, he thinks the Soldier might have a point. This is stupid. What’s wrong with all of the board games they’ve been playing? 

The problem is definitely not a matter of his pride. Seventy years of HYDRA’s particular training program, and he can’t figure out a simple controller? Sounds like equipment failure, if you ask him. 

He stands up, meaning to go out to the kitchen to grab a snack, and that’s the only reason he sees the flash across the street. He reacts before his mind even recognizes what is happening. 

“Get down!” he shouts, leaping over the couch, and pressing Amelia onto the floor. He covers her with his body, feeling the floors rock as the front of the house explodes in fire and splintering wood. As soon as the wall of flames dies back, he grabs her, pulling her towards the garage door. She is coughing, but is able to struggle along and keep up with him. He knows there will be more agents outside. He could leave her here to go after them, but she won’t last long in this smoke, and he’d have to leave her alone to take out the men shooting at her house. The risk is unacceptable. Their only chance is to make it to the garage and drive away together. 

Another missile shoots through, this time detonating in the kitchen. Her house will be unsalvageable. They’re running out of time. He pulls the gun from behind his back, sticks it in her hands, and pushes her towards the garage door. “Get in the truck. I’ll be right back.” He sprints to her room, grabbing the box from her closet and the photos off of her bed stand. From his room, he grabs his backpack, stuffed full of his own pictures, drawings, and other essentials. And then runs back downstairs, grabbing every weapon he can get his hands on along the way. He holds his breath as he makes his way through the smoky house, dropping the photographs from the mantle as he runs past, and quickly makes it into the garage, throwing everything into the space behind his seat. 

“Plan?” she asks. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat, truck already started and in reverse, just waiting for him. 

He presses the button to control the garage door, and turns to her. “Get us out of here. Don’t get shot.” 

He rolls down the window, sticking out the upper half of his body as he readies her gun. She pulls out at full speed, with Bucky providing cover. Two of the vehicles explode, slowing the others down and allowing Amelia to get out of the driveway. Minutes later, they are on their way out of town, trying to put distance between the vehicles still following them. He slips back into the truck, and turns to her. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. You have your phone?” He nods. “Call them Steve. Tell him what’s going on.” 

“Amelia--” He’s fine. He has this under control. This is not the worst situation he’s ever been in, although he usually has more weapons. It is, however, the first time that he’s had to worry about keeping someone else safe. He reaches for his phone, just as the windshield explodes. The truck swerves, and he grabs the wheel. 

“Amelia!” He glances at her. Blood is spilling from her chest. She looks down, seeing the wound, and then meets his gaze, calm despite the pain he can see in her eyes. 

“Bucky. _Run._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. So, see you in a week? 
> 
> *hides*


	14. Holding By a Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!! 
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments. I promised that the next chapter would be worth it, so here it is. This is the chapter a lot of you have been waiting for. I look forward to your thoughts. 
> 
> The next chapter is 75% done, and I am going to try as hard as I can to find an internet connection somewhere next week to get it posted. We leave on Monday for a couple weeks in Tennessee, and we're staying at a campground without wireless. The next couple of updates might be a little erratic, but they'll be as close to on-schedule as I can get them. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Bucky. Run.”_

He hears what she isn’t saying, and it terrifies him. It means that she is giving up, asking him go on without her. 

“Not a chance. Hang on!” He nudges her foot off of the gas, and presses his own down, hard. There is a sharp turn ahead, and they’re going to have one chance. He kills the lights, and aims the car around the bend, and then lets it shoot into the pasture beside the road. He pulls the car to a stop, and then dials the number on his phone while jerking his shirt off of his body. He is just setting it against Amelia’s wound when the voice at the other end picks up. 

“Steve Rogers.” 

Bucky panics, his mind going blank, but then he looks down at Amelia’s torn body, and forces the words from his mouth. “Amelia was shot. She needs help. HYDRA found us. We’re in a field two miles north of Eddisburg.” 

“Bucky?” The man’s voice is disbelieving. 

“Can you help her or not?” His words come out harsher than he intends, but there isn’t time for _that_ conversation. Not with Amelia bleeding out beside him.

“Find someplace safe to hide. Keep the phone on you. We can trace it.” 

“Hurry.” He hangs up, shoves the phone into his pocket, and gets out of the car, pulling Amelia with him. The look in her eyes kills him. He promised himself that he’d protect her. He should see disappointment on her face, at the very least, but all he sees is trust, trust that he no longer deserves. 

Maybe he never has.

Bucky lifts Amelia into his arms and then runs for the treeline. He can come back for her stuff. He sets her on the ground beneath a tree, a few dozen yards into the wooded area, and kneels above her, positioned so he can see the surrounding area while keeping pressure on the wound. Her eyes are closed, and he feels the cold again, ice settling around his heart. “Be okay, Amelia,” he commands. Her eyes flutter and she looks up at him. 

“Bucky.” His name ghosts from her lips. 

“I’m here. Amelia, hang on for me. Help is on the way. I called Steve. He’s coming.” 

She takes his hand take his hand, her grip weak, even as she tries to tighten her fingers around his. “You need to run. Don’t let them get you. Please.”

He shakes his head. “No!”

She coughs, and a bit of blood slips from between her chalky lips. Her hand nearly slips away from his as she struggles. He laces a pinky through her fingers, holding her hand to his. Her grip tightens again. "It’s okay. It’s okay. Go, Bucky. You need to get out of here." She weakly tries to push his hand away-- the one keeping pressure on her wound. If he removes his hand, she has minutes. Bucky holds firm. _Nothing_ about this is okay. He can’t stop the bleeding, and he doesn’t know what to do. No one ever trained him to heal. The Winter Soldier wasn’t built to save lives. Only take them. But he know enough about wounds to know that she doesn’t have long left. She has given up protesting, although he can see in her eyes that she wants to. Giving her life for his. For him to have a chance at freedom. The situation feels familiar. Has he done this before? 

“Not without you.” He says softly. That he _knows_ he has said before. But in a different time, and to someone else. Someone who mattered just as much as she does now ( _even if he can’t quite remember who it was or what the circumstances were_ ). Except, she’s dying, and if help doesn’t come soon, she’s going to die here, lying in the grass at the base of an oak tree. 

No. There’s nothing about this that is okay. 

He pulls her into his arms, careful to maintain pressure. Her head rests on his chest. If HYDRA wants to take him, they’ll find him here. She’s not dying; not tonight. And he’s not running. He looks down at her face, and her eyes are still watching him, half-lidded and dull, but she’s still with him. Her breath is rapid but starting to slow, like breathing is more work than she can handle. 

“Everything’s going to be okay. Steve said he was sending help. You just need to stay with me for a little bit longer.” 

Her eyes flicker. Close. “Amelia? Come on, love. Open your eyes. Stay awake.” 

She stirs, but doesn’t waken. He pulls her tighter with his cybernetic arm, using his other to hold his now-soaked shirt to her chest. Even with him staying, she was nearly out of time. 

Moments later, he hears the whir of jet engines. HYDRA or help, he can’t tell. 

He watched as a man cut through the trees before him, zigzagging as he flew, literally, through the woods. Rather, it might be a man, under the metal. He recognizes the costume as one of Steve’s Avengers, at least. The jet is landing in a nearby clearing, close enough that he can feel a warm breeze from the engines. 

“Amelia! Barnes! Where are you?” The man’s voice was unfamiliar, almost mechanical, but that doesn’t mean anything. HYDRA has a constant stream of new recruits. 

Bucky stands, and the man spots him, coming over to land a few feet away.

“Sergeant James Barnes?” 

He nods. The mask folds back, revealing a middle-aged man with carefully trimmed facial hair. Without the mask in the way, he recognizes the man’s voice.

“I’m Tony Stark. I’m Amelia’s friend. Steve sent me.” 

He reluctantly hands Amelia to the other man. “Get her to safety. She needs help.” 

Stark is looking down at her, face paling. He sharply shakes his head, pulling free of his thoughts. “My best medics are on the jet. What about you?” 

“I’m fine. Just have to go take care of something.” 

***

The Winter Soldier--Bucky Barnes--takes off at a run. Tony gathers Amelia closer to his chest and fires up his thrusters, moving as fast as his they will allow, worried that it won’t be enough. She needs a hospital. The Soldier had better hurry if he wants to ride with her. 

He sets her on the stretcher, steps out of the way of the team of doctors, and leans down by her head, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Don’t leave me, kid. Fight this. You don’t get to leave me.” His voice cracks, and he feels tears burn in his eyes.

Ten minutes ago, he received a frantic call from Steve, begging him to take his fastest jet and get up to Eddisburg. Steve rattled off coordinates, said that Amelia had been shot, and then, before Tony could ask for details, Steve mumbled something about Bucky and HYDRA, and promised to explain later, after telling Tony that the Winter Soldier was there with _Amelia_ , not HYDRA. _“Don’t hurt him, Tony. He’s trying to save her.”_

Had Amelia’s life not been on the line, he would have demanded answers. Like what the fuck was Bucky doing around Amelia in the first place? And how long had Steve known where he was?

Yeah, he was getting answers as soon as he saw Rogers again, but right now, the only thing he cared about was Amelia. The doctors had cut off her shirt, and all he could see was blood. He stumbles back, landing heavily in a chair. The pilot is preparing to take off; Bucky had better hurry if he wants a ride.

As if called by the thought of him, the Winter Soldier appears in the doorway of the jet, carrying a box in his arms and a backpack over his right shoulder. He climbs in, setting the box against the side of the wall and moving to stand by Amelia’s head. He cradles her face in one hand, and glares at the medic who asks him to move.

The medic doesn’t ask again. 

Tony glances at the box. He recognizes the blankets on top, and flicks it aside to see a box of mementos and photographs of Amelia’s family. _Huh._ Unexpected, given the intel on the guy. The box, the way the assassin was standing protectively over Amelia, soothing her while nearly growling at his medical team, none of it made sense. 

Unless.. 

Oh, _hell_ no. What did Rogers do, drop his ex-buddy off at Amelia’s house for safekeeping? Oh, the good Captain had a lot of explaining to do.

Tony stands, thankful for the way the suit keeps him on his feet, when it feels like his own legs might not be able to hold him up right now, and slowly approaches Bucky. “We’ll be in Washington in ten minutes. Steve is meeting us at the hospital.”

The man doesn’t respond. Doesn’t show any signs that he’s heard. The medics move quickly. Tony comes to side beside Bucky, but the man turns the glare in his direction. 

“You don’t scare me, Frosty.” There’s no response. “Huh, not the talkative kind, are you? You know, I grew up on stories about you. My dad never shut up about you and the Cap. You, uh- fell off of a train, right? We were all pretty surprised when you turned up after all of these years.”

***

Bucky gives the man in the iron suit a quick glance, dismissing his chatter as inconsequential. He isn’t here to talk, and certainly not about a past that he doesn’t remember. The medics move around towards him, and finally, he moves a few steps away, still close enough to protect her should he have to. For now, he can only watch helplessly as they cut into her chest, trying to save her. There’s a tube down her throat, monitors strapped to her arms, an IV in place. He’s fighting to hold on and not get lost himself right now. He needs her, but right now, she needs him even more.

Stark approaches him again, this time with a pack of wet wipes and a clean shirt. “This should fit. It’s Bucky, right? Can I call you Bucky? She’ll be fine. These are some of the best doctors in the world. But you’re going to terrify her if she wakes up and you look like this. Get cleaned up.” 

He looks at the man. He’s now out of the suit. His face is concerned, and he remembers that Amelia is his friend, too. He accepts the gifts with a nod. He quickly cleans up as best he can and slips the shirt on over his head. There’s still blood staining under his fingernails. He forces himself to look away. 

The machines surrounding Amelia start beeping. The doctors scramble around her. Stark goes white.

“We’re losing her! Someone get me a shot of…” 

The doctor’s words blur in his mind, becoming nothing more than a low hum. He watches as the heart rate monitor goes flat. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t _anything_ , except stare at the monitor. He’s not aware of Stark standing beside him, or the movements of the doctor. All he can see is the flat green line. His feet move him across the space separating them, and he drops to his knees beside her head, the only place clear of doctors. 

“Don’t. _Don’t._ ” His voice cracks. He touches her cheek, willing life back into her. The doctor calls “Clear!”, and there are strong arms pulling him back several feet as electricity surges through Amelia’s body. Her back arches, and he remembers the chair, remembers the pain. The doctor calls out again, and he struggles to stand. The same strong arms push him back down. 

“Barnes, they’re trying to save her. Let them do their job!” 

And logically, he knows that. But as the paddles come down a second time, he cries out. She’s hurting. What if they are wiping her, too? Fear tastes like bile in his throat.

But then, the green line spikes. All eyes are on the screen. A second passes, and it spikes again. The strong arms release him, and he collapses forward onto all fours. A hand lands on his shoulders. 

“Come on, Barnes. Get up. I’ll pull around a chair.” 

By the time Bucky is on his feet, there is a chair sitting at the end of the stretcher, right beside Amelia’s head. His legs are shaking, but he makes it, sitting down and pressing his forehead to hers. The beep of the monitor fills the background--the only sound that matters. He runs the fingers of his good hand through her hair, and just tries to remember how to breathe. She’s still here, still with him. But the fear, all encompassing, remains.

Not ten minutes later, they are landing on the roof of a city hospital. The Captain is standing there, waiting, with a worried look on his face. They take Amelia off first, and Bucky follows right behind her. 

“Bucky!” Captain Rogers runs up.

He ignores him. He’s not interested. Also, the thought of Captain Rogers ( _Let's hear it for Captain America,_ a voice inside of him provides) hurts. He feels shaky and confused and lost, and it isn’t pleasant. So he walks a little faster. 

“Hey, Barnes, hold up.” It’s Stark this time. He keeps walking. “Sergeant, stop! Now, they aren’t going to let you in there with her. I know where they’re taking her, though. Come on. We’ll wait with you.” 

He pauses, turns. “I’m not leaving her.” 

Captain Roger’s face looks pained. “They won’t let you in, Buck. Let them save her, and then you can stay with her. I’ll make sure of it.” 

His shoulders slump, and he follows Stark over to an elevator and then down to a small private waiting room. It’s too small, and he can feel Rogers and Stark exchanging glances and then watching him expectantly. He sits in silence, watching the door. Let them stare. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” 

He ignores the question. Is he okay? No.

“He’s not injured. I had Jarvis scan him. From what I can tell, HYDRA sent a rocket launcher through her front window. They escaped, but Amy was shot in the process. Your boy here saved her.” 

Bucky glances over, startled. Rogers is looking at him. “Thank you,” the blond man says. Bucky turns away again. He didn’t do it for him. 

“Bucky, she’s going to be okay,” Rogers says. 

He swallows thickly. “Shut up. Just, shut up.” He can hear his voice almost break, and he swallows again. Steve stands, and Bucky is terrified that he’s going to come over, but instead he just leaves the room. A few minutes later, he returns. He hands Bucky a bottled water as he walks past, but says nothing. Bucky accepts, but still doesn’t look at him. 

***(Steve’s POV)***

Picking up his phone and hearing Bucky’s voice on the other end of the line caught him off guard. He knew that Bucky had his and Tony’s numbers programmed into his phone; Amelia had told him that much. He’d just never expected Bucky to use it. 

So picking up the phone, hearing his voice, that was jarring enough. But hearing that Amelia had been shot, that HYDRA was closing in, and that he was about to lose the two people who mattered most? 

Steve has faced a lot of terrifying moments in his life. More than he could count. But he has never been more scared than he was in that moment.

As soon as Bucky hung up, Steve was on the phone with Tony, passing along the essential intel, and running for his bike. By his estimate, it’d be at least 20 minutes before Tony picked her up and got her to the hospital. If he hurried, he could make it before they arrived. 

Seeing Bucky for the first time in two months, watching the man rest his gaze on him for only a split second before charging after the stretcher, was disorienting. He didn’t look like the man he’d fought on the helicarrier. Not anymore. Sure, he’d seen pictures, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. For a split second, he could almost pretend. Sure, the hair is a little longer, and he has a metal arm, but when Bucky starts off after Amelia, well, Steve remembers that look. It’s the same one, the quiet terror and crushing worry, that Bucky wore on his face every time Steve’s health used to take a turn for the worst. Except right then, staring at Amelia, there’s an intensity in his face that Steve’s never seen before. 

Steve follows Tony and Bucky into the elevator, careful to keep his distance from the ex-assassin. He stays back, letting Bucky take first pick of chairs in the waiting room, noting how he picks a space where he can see anywhere in the room, and out into the hallway a short distance. It’s also close to the door, allowing for an easy exit. 

It’s the exact same position Steve would have chosen. He settles for somewhere across the room, a chair over from Tony. Tony, who gives him a look that promises a very long, probably painful, discussion as soon as they know Amelia will be okay. 

Bucky holds himself painfully still, eyes locked on the open doorway (he hasn’t so much as glanced at Steve since the jet landed), hands tight on the chair’s armrests. The one beneath his metal hand is already bent out of alignment. His eyes are a bit too wide, breath a bit too fast. 

Steve can recognize panic when he sees it. He’s been there enough times. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” He wants to kick himself for the question. He can see that he’s not okay. Not surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t answer, doesn’t even glance his way.

“He’s not injured. I had Jarvis scan him. From what I can tell, HYDRA sent a rocket launcher through her front window. They escaped, but Amy was shot in the process. Your boy here saved her.” 

That got his attention. Bucky finally looks over, the blank expression shifting for a moment when he meets Steve’s gaze. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, and it’s not nearly enough. Not all he wants to say. But Bucky turns away again. 

When Steve came out of the ice, there was SHIELD. Fury, Miss Hill, and then the Avengers. There was Amelia. His first two months were a blur of new faces, some who stuck around, many who didn’t. He had an apartment. He had friends. And he had his memories. He knew who he was and what made him. 

He didn’t have to worry about HYDRA trying to grab him and force him back into a life of forced brutality. He could just be. 

Bucky didn’t have that. Any of it. He ran, scared and injured, and eventually find his way to Amelia. And then, she was what he had. Sam had talked about this, how eventually, Bucky was going to have to take the step between just Amelia and being willing to let others in, and how that had to be a slow, gradual thing. Let Steve in, when he was ready. And then the others, one at a time. 

There’s nothing gradual about this. Bucky wasn’t given a choice in seeing Steve and Tony, and they’re not reuniting in the safe, quiet place Sam recommended. They’re sitting in a hospital, with Amelia just down the hallway, fighting for her life. 

That in itself was threatening to destroy Steve; he couldn’t even imagine what it was doing to Bucky. Amelia was all he had, at least until he was ready to let Steve and the others into his life. and right now, he was facing the possibility of losing everything all over again. 

No, Steve is willing to bet that Bucky was very much not okay. Still… “Bucky, she’s going to be okay.” 

Bucky’s hands come up to grip his hair, and he hunches forward slightly. “Shut up. Just, shut up.” 

Steve hears the way his voice cracks around the words. He wants to reach out, the way that Bucky did when Steve’s mom was in the hospital, but he knows that it won’t be welcome. So he settles for walking down the hall to the nearest vending machine, bringing Bucky back a water bottle and hoping that the gesture is accepted. 

***(Bucky’s POV)*** 

It’s nearly three hours before a doctor comes to the door. He stands, and he feels his hand shake. 

“Miss Cassidy made it through surgery. They’ll be bringing her to a recovery room shortly. I’ll send a nurse for you.”

“Will she be okay?” Rogers asks, voicing the words Bucky can’t force from his own throat. 

The doctor hesitates. “Your friend is badly injured. The bullet fractured and ricocheted inside of her, damaging her left lung, heart, and some deep tissue. Another few minutes without treatment, and she wouldn’t have made it. As it was, her heart stopped twice on the operating table, and the second time, we almost couldn't bring her back. We’ve done everything we can, and we should know more in the morning.” If she’s still alive, the doctor doesn’t say. Bucky hears the words anyway. He locks his knees, and clenches his fists. He forces his face to remain neutral. 

“Thank you,” Steve says. The man leaves. Bucky is rooted to the floor. Steve steps towards him, but Stark holds him back, stepping forward himself. 

“Come on, Frosty. Sit down. Don’t worry about what he said. Amelia is stubborn as hell.” Something in his voice doesn’t read right. The man is worried. Doesn’t believe the words. Bucky still finds himself sitting down again, his head spinning. Amelia makes him believe that he might one day be human again, more than a machine. More than a weapon. More than an asset. If she dies, what will he be then? And how will he go on without her?

“We need to talk about HYDRA.” Stark says after a pause.

“Tony--” Steve protests.

“I’m going after them,” Bucky promises darkly. The only way to keep Amelia safe, to repay her for the gift of humanity, is to destroy them. Destroy every last cell, every head. To work his way towards the heart and take down the monster once and for all. She was safe here, with Steve. Wherever this led him, it would be better to do it alone. These were his ghosts, not hers, and he wouldn’t let her suffer for them. As soon as she woke up (he ignores the dark voice inside that whispers _if_...), as soon as he knew that she would be okay, he would go. But he needed to see her one last time, her voice giving him whatever strength it could before he left her, knowing that this would be his final mission. He’d either return when it was safe, or not return at all. Likely, the latter, but either way, she would be safe before he was done. 

“We’re not letting you go alone,” Steve insists. “SHIELD’s gone, but my team and I are all behind you. Just tell us where to start.” 

Bucky looks up, startled. This whole thing was his fault; why was Steve doing this? “What?”

“We all want to take them down. Now, the way I see it, we can do it separately, or we can do it together. But it’s going to be a lot easier if you help us.” 

Panic claws at his chest. He remembers this conversation. _‘You do your part, we’ll do ours...make the world a better place...with your help...’_ He bites back panic, clenches his fists. He wants to run. He wants to hide. He wants this to be over with. _Don’t make me go back,_ he wants to scream. He desperately wants Amelia. Wants her to remind him, just once more, that he is more than what they made him. Wants her to tell him that it’s going to be okay. 

Another conversation comes to him. Nearly two months ago, after Amelia’s first day back to work. He asked her why she put Stark’s and Roger’s numbers in the phone. _“I trust them,”_ she replied. And if she can trust these two men, he is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, at least for now.

“I’ll think about it.” He will, too, if she lives. If not, he’ll tear HYDRA apart with his bare hands, or as close as he gets to having bare hands. He won’t need their help. And he won’t stop until they are destroyed, or until they destroy him. 

Rogers looks relieved. “That’s all we can ask for, Bucky.” He says the last part hesitantly, as if he’s still not sure that he has permission to use the more familiar name. Bucky doesn’t care, so he doesn’t answer him.

A nurse comes in moments later, and leads the three men down the hall. Memories slip back, another time walking the halls of a hospital with Steve at his side. Steve, eight inches shorter with red-rimmed eyes, but the memory is foggy, little more than an impression. He glances over; Steve glances back, barely concealed grief in his eyes, hidden by the brave smile he’s forcing onto his features. The expression looks so familiar that Bucky has to stop his reaction to it. He turns to face forward, and puts the shared glance out of his thoughts.

The nurse stops outside a closed door, and Bucky isn’t surprised to see two heavily armed guards waiting outside the door. Stark nods to them. 

“This won’t be enough. If they come for her, or for me when I’m here, you’re going to need more.” 

Stark smirks, and Bucky takes another look around, picking up three doctors, a half dozen nurses, a few patients, and a janitor, all armed and standing in strategic points around the floor. Better. 

“We’re counting on you being able to stop anyone who actually makes it into the room,” Stark explains. Bucky nods.

The nurse opens the door, and Bucky steps forward. 

“We’ll be in after a few minutes,” Rogers says. Bucky looks up at him, surprised. Captain Rogers matters to her, and she to him. Why is he holding back? 

“I thought you might like a moment or two alone with her,” he explains, and after a moment, Bucky nods. 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice rough. He enters the room, and the door closes behind him. He hears the click before he looks around the room. 

Amelia looks tiny, lying there on the bed. A sheet covers most of her body, but he can see medical gauze wrapped around her chest. There are tubes and wires everywhere. Her skin is nearly translucent. He stumbles forward, wrapping his hand around her cool fingers. He’s shaking again, and he doesn’t care. 

The Soldier has never sat at someone’s bedside. He’s never whispered comforts into the ear of a friend; he didn’t have friends. And there was never anyone to comfort him. So this is foreign. But some part of his life _before_ slips through, and he sits down beside her. “Amelia, it’s--” _The Asset._ “It’s Bucky. You’re in the hospital, and the doctor’s said that you’re going to be fine. Everything is okay now.” He brings her hand to his cheek, needing the feel of her. “Just get better.” Tears sting at his eyes, and he lowers his head. 

He’s not prepared. There was no indication, when he woke up the morning, Amelia still asleep in his arms, that the day would have turned out like this. Had he seen the sniper, he would have put himself in front of her. Wouldn’t have hesitated. But he didn’t, and now, she might not last the few hours until dawn. 

He’s not prepared for Steve, either, or for all of the emotions he brings with him. He knows about the experiments, he remembers Steve being six-foot plus, finally strong and healthy, but he remembers him better from before. This Steve still feels wrong. Bucky kept sneaking glances, and it’s jarring, every time. It wouldn’t surprise him if he felt that way before HYDRA, too. But seeing him again, it’s not as bad as he thought it was going to be. Not yet. Steve had questions, and there were things Bucky would have to atone for, things he would spend the rest of his life atoning for, but for now, there was an uneasy silence between them. Steve won’t ask; Bucky won’t volunteer. 

If he’s honest, seeing Steve is terrifying, but it’s also comforting in a way that he can’t put a name to. He wants to run, probably would, if it wouldn’t mean leaving Amelia behind, but at the same time, for the first time, he wants to stay, too. 

But none of that matters, not until he knows whether or not Amelia is going to survive. Whatever comes after will wait. She comes first. 

A tear slips down his cheek, catching on her hand where he has it pressed against his face. He wipes it dry with his thumb, and bows his head down beside her, “Please. Please don’t leave me.” 

***

Tony Stark watches the video on his phone. “Huh, well. Would you look at that?” He tilts the device to allow Steve to see. It displays a live feed from Amelia’s hospital room, and Steve watches as Bucky cradles Amy’s hand against his cheek. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like he might be crying. 

“When I found them in the woods, he was holding her against him, his hand pressed over the hole in her chest. He couldn’t have defended himself, not while still keeping her alive. He chose to protect her over himself, over any mission.” 

Steve watches the feed. “I don’t know how to help him, how to help either of them. He barely looks at me. But this-- He responds to her.”

“More than responds, I’d say. So, were you going to tell the rest of us about this?” 

“I didn’t know he was with her until a couple weeks ago. She finally told me after HYDRA got too close.” 

“She knew HYDRA was on to their location?” Steve nods. “We’re going to have a very long conversation, as soon as she wakes up.”

Another moment passes, and Steve stands. “We should probably do this one at a time. Give me a few minutes, please.” 

Tony agrees. “I still have questions,” he warns. 

Steve’s laugh is dry and humorless. “That makes both of us.”

***

Steve opens the door to Amy’s hospital room. Bucky jerks away from her, standing between the bed and Steve with a hard expression on his face. 

Steve holds his hands up. “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt her, or you. I just want to see her. And-- And I wanted to see you. Is that okay?” 

Bucky nods sharply, but his eyes follow Steve as he moves to take the seat opposite the side he is on. Moving slowly, and broadcasting every movement, he sits down and takes Amy’s hand. His hands are shaking; she looks so small, helpless, and broken lying there, tubes and wires coming up from beneath the sheet. He reaches out, touching her cheek, and then quickly wiping at his eyes. 

“Sorry. I-- I don’t know what to do here, Bucky.” He lifts his head and glances over. Bucky is staring blankly at him, but his gaze keeps making quick darts to look at Amelia’s face and then to the monitors beside her bed. “I’ve spent all of this time imagining what I’d say when I found you, but I never imagined--” He breaks off, choking on the words. He studies Amelia’s face, too pale. He can still see a trace of blood on her lips the nurses missed when cleaning her up. He reaches out to wipe it away, careful of the respirator tube. Bucky just watches him, eyes narrowing slightly when Steve touches her. 

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Steve says quietly. “I swear to you. She was my first friend when I woke up; did she tell you that?” He pauses, waiting for a response. 

Bucky’s gaze flickers from Amelia to the monitors and then back to him. He remains silent, his expression empty. 

“I’d put myself between her and whatever comes through the door. Same as I’d do for you.” He swallows, considers his next words. “I’ve missed you. I’m glad you found someone to connect with. And whatever happens next, whatever you choose to do from here, you have my support, even if you don’t choose to let me back into your life.” He forces the words around the lump in his throat

Finally, _finally_ , something in Bucky’s eyes flickers. “I’ve missed you, too, punk.” 

The words sound stiff, and are so soft that, even with his super hearing, Steve can barely make them out. Still, the sound of Bucky’s voice, the tiny hint of who he used to be, it’s more than Steve ever dared to expect. Barely anything, but still something. Proof that his friend isn’t lost to him forever. 

Steve smiles through the tears in his eyes. _“Jerk.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are. The reunion. What'd you think? 
> 
> Also, it gets better, guys, I promise. This story is going to have a lot of laughter and happiness in it, and at the end of it all, there's a happy ending. It just takes a while for everyone to get there.


	15. Survival is a Slippery Slope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. 
> 
> Finding wireless access anywhere was a nightmare, so other than a few moments here or there to check for comments, I wasn't able to post anything. I'm currently sitting in a hotel in West Virginia, with access for the first time since last Monday night. 
> 
> Oh, Internet. I have missed you. 
> 
> To make up for the wait, I should have the next chapter up on Saturday. And thank you all so much for all of the lovely comments and kudos. They mean the world to me, and I love to read your thoughts on each chapter. 
> 
> The mistakes are mine, as is Amelia. Everything else belongs to MARVEL. I am merely playing in their garden.

_Two Months Ago_

He called her not even fifteen minutes after he told Fury to dismantle what was left of SHIELD. Agent Hill handed him an untraceable phone, and he pressed her number into the keypad with trembling fingers. 

_“Hello?”_

“Amy.” His voice cracked on her name. 

_“Steve? Thank god. Where are you? Are you safe? Is there anything I can do?”_

“Bucky--” He swallowed. “Bucky’s alive. He’s here. He’s--” He can’t do it. The words catch in his throat, and he fails to choke back a small sob. Everything is catching up with him. He can be Captain America when he has to be, put on that mask and surge ahead, no matter if he’s breaking. But here, locked inside a small room, away from everyone else, he can be Steve Rogers. He’s not a hero, not in this moment. He’s just a man: young, scared, and in way over his head. 

_“Whoa, hey. It’s alright. What do you mean Bucky’s alive? Your Bucky? Steve, that’s--”_

“HYDRA had him. This whole time. He hasn’t aged. They’ve turned him into something else. _Someone_ else. He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t even know his own name.” He feels bile rising in his throat. “They hurt him, and I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t get through to him.” 

_“I don’t understand.”_

“When he fell, we never went back for him. We couldn’t. HYDRA did. He was still alive, Amy. He was lying down there, in the ice and snow, still alive. And I just left him. I could have prevented this. Everything.. It’s my fault. I--” 

Amelia cut in. _“There’s no way you could have known, Steve.”_

“Everyone says that, but that doesn’t make it true. He doesn’t remember me. I don’t know how to help him. He spent his whole life taking care of me, and the one time he needs me, I just-- I didn’t know.”

_“Steve, I-- I don’t even know what to say. Is he okay? Are you?”_

“He’s--- I don’t know. I really don’t. He’s lost, and I’m going to try my best to bring him home.”

 _“Where is he now?”_

“HYDRA still has him. Listen, there’s going to be something big going down tomorrow. Whatever happens, I need you to stay away, Amelia. Promise me. Get underground somewhere. Don’t come out until you hear from one of us, do you understand? Just.. Stay underground. Away from windows, as well-protected as you can get. Promise me.” 

_“I promise.”_

“Thank you. I should go.” 

_“Steve, whatever you’re doing, be careful. Alright? Please, don’t do anything stupid.”_

He can’t help the frantic, almost hysterical laugh. “You have to meet him. As soon as he’s safe, I want you to meet Bucky. You’re going to love him.” 

***  
(Present Time)

Amelia was the only person Steve called in the hours after their surprise meeting with Fury. He didn’t know if he was going to survive the next day. He didn’t know if Bucky was going to survive it, not with the rest of his team believing that it would be better, maybe even kinder, to destroy whatever remained of his friend. Amy, he knew, would step in on Bucky’s behalf, should Steve himself not survive. 

Steve never questioned that Amy would do whatever she could for Bucky, even if he wasn’t there to lead their efforts. It just never occurred to him that they might connect without him even in the picture; that they would find their way to each other regardless. 

“I told her about you, when I first woke up. I told her almost everything I could think of. All of the old stories. I couldn’t bare the thought that I was the only person left who knew them, who knew you. I told her… I told her that I wished she could have known you. The day I learned that you were still alive, I called her. I told her you were alive, and I-- I told her that I wanted her to meet you, as soon as I could get you somewhere safe and make sure that you were okay. I never doubted that you and Amy would get along. I just--” he gestures between Bucky and Amelia, “this. I never expected this.” 

Bucky looks up, glances at Steve, and seems to consider saying something before ultimately just turning back to Amelia. He’s now standing at her side, but Steve knows he can see the window, and the reflection of the door in the window, from where he stands. Standing gives him a faster reaction time, and Steve can see the bulge of a gun at his right hip. Able to protect her from all threats without taking more than a step or two. 

And it’s so much like he used to do, standing between a threat and someone smaller and weaker, that Steve has to shift his gaze away. 

Tony walks in a few minutes later, three coffees in hand. “Pepper stopped on her way over. Don’t know how you take yours, Barnes, so you have black, with some sugar and creamer packs.” Steve accepts his drink; Bucky ignores his so Tony sets it on the small table with a shrug.

“Did you call the others?” Steve asks, after taking his first sip. Hospital coffee, reliably, is one of the few things that hasnt changed or improved in the last seventy years. 

“Pepper is keeping them apprised. I told her that they might want to hold off on visiting for now, all things considered,” he replies, casting a quick glance towards Bucky. “Barton is setting up across the road. Banner is reviewing her medical files. Natasha and Thor went out to look for any remaining HYDRA agents, but all they found was bodies. They’re on their way back now, and will be trading off shifts.” 

Bucky doesn’t look up, but with the way Tony was staring at him, it isn’t hard to figure out where the bodies came from. 

Steve glances towards the window, nodding towards Barton, even though he can’t see him in the dark. He knows that the archer is probably watching in. Bucky follows his line of sight, and shifts slightly. 

“Barton is a friend; he’s also our best shot,” Steve explains. “If he’s out there, no one is getting close to her through the window. He’ll be monitoring for any threats from outside.” 

Bucky glares again out the window, and then settles his attention back on Amelia. 

“So, Frostbite, what’s the story with you and our girl?” Tony asks, leaning back against the wall with feigned indifference, but his eyes are flashing.

Steve protests, but Bucky is quiet for a very long time, not even looking Tony’s way. When he does respond, he doesn’t look up. “She helped me.” 

“Not good enough,” Tony asserts. “If you hadn’t been there, HYDRA wouldn’t have been their either.” 

“Tony, leave him be,” Steve snaps. “Look, all that matters is that he saved her, and they’re both here. That’s enough for right now.” He gently squeezes Amelia’s hand, and then steps back, giving Tony space to approach her. Tony gives him a grateful nod, and steps forward, sitting down on the bed beside her. He leans over her and takes her hand. 

“Hey, kid. It’s me. I have the best doctors taking care of you, and we aren’t going anywhere until we know you’re going to be okay. Wake up. You don’t get to drop Barnes in our laps and then check out.” 

Bucky shifts. Odd how with just the movement of a few muscles he can project so much menace. It’s disconcerting. 

“Tony…” Steve warns. 

Tony waves him off. “Relax, Cap. He’s a big boy. He can take it.”

Steve meets Bucky’s gaze, his face apologetic. Bucky turns his face away again, not looking him in the eyes for more than a split second before averting his gaze. 

He won’t blame Bucky for what happened. He was no more responsible for HYDRA’s actions now than when he was still under their control. Was this preventable? Yes. But Amelia knew the risks. She must have decided that Bucky was worth it. Looking down at her now, seeing the machines that were breathing for her and making her heart keep beating, he wonders if she’d make the same choice again, if she knew that this was where it was going to lead. It was one thing for Steve to risk everything for Bucky; he’d done it before and it’d never occur to him to not do it again. Amelia had chosen to let a known HYDRA assassin, the most feared of all of them, into her home, and then didn’t ask for help until it was too late to protect her. 

But she had done it for Bucky. And that, Steve can understand. He’s done stupid things in Bucky’s name before, too. 

***

“Did I ever watch Dumbo?” 

Steve starts. “Dumbo?” Tony was out meeting with Pepper, leaving the two of them alone for the last hour or so. He hasn’t so much as glanced Steve’s way in all of that time, so the seemingly random question catches him off guard.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of the hospital bed. “I watched it with Amelia. It was familiar. I thought maybe I’d seen it before.” 

Steve grins. “Yeah. We took your little sister. And then went to go see it again the next week.” 

“Rebecca.” 

Steve’s lips curl up fondly. “Yeah.” 

“Is she..?” Bucky’s voice sounds hesitant when he asks, and he still won’t look at him. The action is familiar. Bucky was always the first to reach out whenever Steve needed him, but he always fought to hide his own emotions. Turning away, trying to act like this was a casual conversation when it was anything but; it’s a very Bucky thing to do.

“In the eighties. Lung cancer.” Steve feels a familiar stab of pain that comes with remembering. “She has two daughters, though. They both live about an hour from here. I stop to see them sometimes. They’d love to meet you, if you ever want to go. And they both have a few kids. There’s even a boy, your great-nephew, who has your name. Kind of looks like you, too. He has yours and Becky’s eyes.” 

“I don’t remember much about her. We were close, I think. What I do remember, we were close.” 

Steve nods. “I used to be so jealous of you.” At Bucky’s questioning glance, he explains. “My dad died in the war before I was born, and my ma never remarried, so it was just me growing up.” He shrugs. “Got lonely sometimes. But I had you. I always thought, what we had, it was kind of like having a brother. Fewer fights over the good spot on your family’s old couch, maybe.” 

Bucky looks away, back to Amelia, letting the conversation drop. Steve takes the moment to study him. Ten hour ago, Steve was meeting Sam for lunch to discuss the latest news from Amelia and now here they are. 

Bucky has a shadow of hair along his jaw, and his face is drawn and haggard. He hasn’t touched anything they’ve offered him since they arrived at the hospital. He barely talks, and when he does, it’s never more than a short stilting sentence or two. 

The exception is when he’s talking to Amelia. His hand hasn’t left hers in the whole time Steve has been in here, and once or twice an hour, he leans down, talking quietly into Amelia’s ear. Steve can never make out the words, but there’s no mistaking the care in his tone or the way his other hand brushes through her hair as he speaks. Every time he does it, Tony stares. Hard. 

And Steve could be wrong, but he thinks that he’s caught a hint of a smirk a couple times when Bucky pulls back, and it’s all he can do each time to bite the inside of his mouth hard enough each time to keep from reacting, torn between rolling his eyes in exasperation and matching Bucky’s smirk with one of his own. 

***

Morning comes. 

As the sun rises, it falls across Amelia’s face. She is still too pale, despite the blood transfusions and steady drip of fluids and medicine through her IV. The respirator and wires are still in place, and there is still a drain tube coming from the side of her chest. But, despite all of that, she is alive. 

Bucky sits down on the bed beside her, mindful of the way Tony and Steve are watching him. They’ve barely taken their eyes off of him all night, and while Steve’s gaze is usually worried and curious, he thinks that Tony is just waiting for him to crack. He finds, unsurprisingly, that can’t quite bring himself to care. 

He’s shaky again, holding her hand to hide it from the others. He can’t escape the thought that he is losing everything again. Amelia’s home, the home he thought of as his, is gone, taking the stability it offered with it. He had grown comfortable; the same walls and windows and doors surrounding him for so long, providing a safe place for him to begin his recovery. Now, he doesn’t dare think past this moment, here in the hospital. He doesn’t want to think about what comes next. 

Someone knocks at the door, and he tenses, ready to fight, but it’s just a nurse. (HYDRA won’t knock, he reminds himself.)

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she says, just popping her head in. The nurses have been in and out all night, along with the doctor on call. They haven’t had much to share. She’s still alive. She’s still not able to breathe on her own. And it’s still too early to say with any confidence that she’s going to be okay. 

“After the doctor comes, I was thinking we could order in breakfast. There’s a cafe around the corner that looks promising,” Tony offers. “Pepper will be by later with a change of clothes and such. She’s bringing your bag in, too,” he says, looking at Bucky. “Amelia’s box is waiting for her in her room back at the Tower.” 

Bucky nods. 

“Bucky, do you know what you want for breakfast? I can pull their menu up on my phone,” Steve offers. 

“Whatever you order is fine.” 

“They probably have blueberry pancakes and fried potatoes. That and some bacon used to be your favorite, whenever we could swing it.”

He doesn’t remember, but it sounds good, so he agrees and tries to tune out the rest of the conversation. It’s harder when Tony crosses the short distance to the bed and takes Amelia’s other hand. He frowns slightly, and Bucky knows that it’s because her hands are still cool to the touch. Stark releases her hand, and disappears out into the hallway, only to return a few moments later with a couple of blankets. He covers Amelia in one, covering her from her shoulders down, and then lifts her hand, rubbing it lightly between his to warm it. 

Tony Stark is not what he expected, from listening in to the occasional meeting or hearing Amelia talk about him. He expects someone larger than life, and no mistake, the man is definitely that, but there’s a whole lot of human there, too. The man sits quietly at Amelia’s bedside, staring at the equipment surrounding her, as if trying to determine how he can make it work better, and through that, make Amelia better, too. He’s lost, facing a problem he doesn’t know how to fix. When he’s not sitting, he’s pacing, or texting furiously on his phone, or talking to Banner. Barton calls in regularly, to give Steve an update and ask for any news on Amelia. Natasha called once, too, and Steve excused himself for nearly twenty minutes when Sam called. When he came back in, his eyes were red, but he looked more at ease. 

He’s spent two months with Amelia, their world contained to just the two of them, with the exception of the weekend in Manhattan and her work. Now, seeing her as part of this group of people he doesn’t know, and knowing that they’d all be in with her, as opposed to just Steve and Tony, if it wasn’t for him, well, it’s not a comfortable feeling. This is her life, the friend of super heroes, and it’s a life that she put on hold for him. These people, who probably have more of a right to be here than he does, are her friends. 

Not that he’s going anywhere. Not yet. Still, it’s good to know that she won’t be alone when he leaves to take down HYDRA. 

The doctor comes, looks over Amelia's chart, and schedules a few tests. He consults her chart, and tells them that her chances of pulling through are better than they were last night, but that’s all he can tell them. 

Breakfast is delivered, and while they are eating, a woman named Miss Potts (It's an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes, and please, call me Pepper.) brings by his backpack and a shopping bag with a few new outfits inside. Bucky thanks her, somewhat overwhelmed,and goes back to his meal. He likes her, even if he can't figure out what a dame as classy as her is doing with a guy like Tony. 

Pepper leaves and Steve follows, saying that he’s going to update the others. Before he goes, he gives Tony a warning look. Bucky sees it, but pretends he doesn’t. 

The moment Steve leaves, Tony turns his gaze to Bucky. “I don’t care about what you’ve done, and I don’t care who you are, both as the Winter Soldier or before that. The only thing I care about is whether or not you are a threat to the people I care about. If you hurt them, if you threaten them, if you give me any indication that they are not safe with you, then I will destroy you.” 

Bucky nods his understanding. 

Tony continues. “Steve wants to trust you, but Steve is an idiot. He gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, and when it comes to you, he’s vulnerable. I don’t trust his judgement. But Amelia trusts you, too, and I do trust hers. You play straight with me, and I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

“I won’t hurt her.” He doesn’t know what else to say. This man is offering more than he deserves, followed on the heels of a threat to destroy him, and Bucky doesn’t know how to react. Stark wants a guarantee that he won’t turn against them, and he can’t promise that. He can feel the ice again, feel the Soldier fighting to step in. Amelia is safe; the Soldier would make sure she stayed that way, but he wouldn’t hesitate to attack the others. Even without the Soldier, if provoked, or if he thought Amelia was in any danger, he would fight. 

Stark stares, his gaze hard, and Bucky forces himself to meet it. It isn’t easy. But, after a long moment, the other man gives a sharp nod. “We get through this, we’re going to talk about building you a new arm, too. How long has it been since it was last updated? Do you have any sensation in it? Is that the original arm, or have they replaced it? Not that it matters; anything I make will be better. How do you feel about lasers?”

Bucky blinks as his mind scrambles to keep up with the sudden change in topic. “Original, I think. I feel pressure. Heat. Cold. No lasers.” The answers come automatically. He doesn’t trust this man enough for a new arm, but he can’t figure out how to say it without insulting him or turning away his attempt at peace between them. 

He wonders if Tony knows that he killed his father, and thinks that he probably doesn’t. 

“Hmm. Well. When we get back to the Tower, I’ll have JARVIS take a scan of your current prosthetic, and I’ll get started. I already have a few ideas, but let me make a few notes, and we’ll go over them together.” 

“Why are you helping me?” 

“Because Amelia trusts you, and because everyone deserves a second chance. This is yours. Don’t screw it up.” The man stands. “I’ll be back in five.”

***

Tony finds Steve waiting outside the room. “Well?” 

“No sign of HYDRA. They’ve cleared the area.” 

“No news is good news, I guess. At least it means we won’t have to worry about Barnes going off the deep end if one of them decides to show up.” 

Steve frowns. “You need to go easier on him. We don’t know what will set him off, and with everything he’s dealing with at the moment, he doesn’t need you giving him a hard time.” 

“Relax, Cap. Barnes and I have made our peace. He knows we’re good. How are you holding up?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Steve looks up sharply. Tony holds his gaze. Steve never lies, except to himself, and in this case, the man has a serious case of denial going on. 

After a moment, Steve lets out the breath he was holding, and rubs at his forehead. “I’m glad that Bucky is here, safe, and where I can look out for him. I’m glad that he’s been safe this whole time.” 

“But?” 

“Amelia kept this from us. She put herself in danger. She put us in danger. She lied to me.” 

Bingo. “An imperfect person in an imperfect situation, Cap. Are you more upset about the danger, or the lies?” 

Steve moves around to one of the chairs, and sits down, dropping his head into his hands. “I think they go hand-in-hand. She could have told me. I would have given him all the space he needed, but it would have been nice to not have to worry.” 

“You think you wouldn’t have still worried?” 

Steve looks up at him. “It’s not the same.” 

“I think the problem here is that he didn’t go to you, and she didn’t go to you, either. You wanted to fix this, and they didn’t let you in. And that’s fine. You’re human, and that’s a very human response. Here’s the thing, though. You hold onto that, and they’re going to sense it. You have a chance to get him back. She gave that to you, but it’s up to you what you choose to do with it.” He sets a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and then starts down the hall. “Next time you need a heart-to-heart, call Wilson!” he calls back over his shoulder. He needs a break. When did he become the dispenser of good advice? Things needed to go back to the way they belonged. He wanted to be able to spend his days in the lab, secure in the knowledge that everyone was safe and where they were meant to be. He was getting too old for this shit. 

***

Three days slip by. Bucky still hasn’t left her room in all of that time. He stands in the corner, strategically positioned to see the door, the window, and the bed, with his hand is on his knife; he doesn’t expect the SHIELD operatives Tony contacted to guard Amelia to do anything useful in the case of an attack. Steve has spent most of that time with him, sitting beside Amelia and holding her hand, but right now, he’s out with Stark, drawing up plans for raiding a new HYDRA base, as soon as Amelia was awake. 

Bucky blinks slowly, rubs at his eyes, and takes another sip of the coffee Steve brought in a few hours ago. He hasn’t slept. He can’t escape the feeling that if he closes his eyes, he’s going to lose her. HYDRA will attack, or her heart will give into its injuries, and she’d slip away from him. Paranoia is starting to set in, and he knows it. He feels more on edge, closer to the Soldier than he’s felt in weeks, but he can’t seem to reign it in. 

He jumps when Steve walks back in, taking one look at the defensive stance and the weapon only inches from his fingers. The Captain stops, raising his hands in a placating motion. “Bucky, are you still with us?” 

He winces, and takes an unsteady breath. “I’m fine.” 

“I can see that. Do you think that maybe you could take your hand off of the knife?” 

Bucky glances down, seeing his fingers wrapped around the blade’s handle. Oh.

Tony steps into the room. “What-- Oh, hey, that’s not threatening at all. What’s going on here, Bucko?” 

“It’s fine, Tony," Steve says, not moving his gaze. "Close the door behind you, though, please." 

The door closes. Both sets of eyes are watching Bucky, expressions wary. He breathes again, and forces himself to relax. Loosens his fingers and lifts them away from the weapon.

Steve takes a slow step forward, hands still out by his side. “Bucky, you need rest. I know a hotel not even a block from here. You could be back in minutes if she needs you. I’ll handle the reservation. Come on. Food, sleep, maybe a shower, and then you can come right back.” 

“I’m not leaving her.” His gaze travels from Steve to the monitors and then lands briefly on Amelia’s face before returning to the tall blond. 

“Here’s a thought, Tin Man. What happens if HYDRA storms those doors looking for you, and you’re too tired to defend her?” 

He glowers, and turns to face Stark. “That won’t happen.” Still, the doubt is there. 

“Come on, Bucky. The doctor said that she’s still heavily sedated. She’s not going to wake up for a while. I’ll come and get you in a few hours, okay? But you can’t take care of her if you aren’t taking care of you, too. Stark and I will sit with her. She couldn’t be better defended. I promise.”

He doesn’t think it will help, but Steve is insistent, and Stark has a point about being too tired to operate at full ability in the case of an attack. If he keeps going like this, someone will get hurt, and he’s still aware enough to realize that it probably won’t be a HYDRA agent. “Someone else needs to be here while you’re gone,” he says finally. 

Steve nods. “Natasha is doing a perimeter check. I’ll have her come up once she’s done.”

He leans over Amelia, lips next to her ear. “Rest. I’ll be back soon, and if you wake up, I can be here in minutes.” He pushes her hair back, and sets his forehead on hers for just a moment before he stands again. “Let’s go.”

He lifts his bag over his shoulders, and follows Steve out of the room and down the hallway. Neither speaks until they reach the elevator. He feels Steve’s eyes on him, though, and can tell that he has something he’s trying to decide how to say. 

“What do you want?” he asks, finally, internally wincing at the harshness in his voice.

“Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?” The earnestness on his face twists like a knife. 

“I’m fine.”

“If there was anything, you know you could tell me, right? Money isn’t an issue anymore, and I--” 

Bucky glances over, eyebrow raised slightly, but says nothing.

“I just want to help. If there’s anything you need, I just-- please, let me help.” 

At this, Bucky turns to face him, studying him a moment before he speaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Bucky--” 

“I don’t blame you for what they did to me.” 

Steve’s face falls. It looks like he wants to reach out, his hands flexing against his pant legs, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t save you.” 

Bucky shakes his head, feeling decades-old annoyance bubbling inside of him. “You’re an idiot. What the hell were you going to do, Stevie, storm a HYDRA base again to save me again? The base they kept me at was twice as large as any we’d attacked before that.” The words are true, he realizes as he says them, a small memory opening up. “And Amelia told me that you crashed a jet into the ocean a few days after I fell. Don’t think you’re getting out of that discussion, punk.” 

He’s surprised by how easy it is to fall into being Bucky Barnes around Steve, even as tired and on-edge as he feels. Steve seems just as surprised, giving him a cautious smile. 

“You came to Manhattan when I was injured. That’s when we caught your reflection in Brooklyn.” 

Bucky tenses, and nods sharply. 

“Sam and I have been over this a couple times. Why Brooklyn? He says you were probably staying closer, and just over there to check things out. I...I don’t know what to think. I don’t think you would stay too close; there’d be too great a risk of being seen. I thought you might have found a place to stay near where we grew up. It might be more comfortable for you than staying in Manhattan.” 

“The reflection. When was it?” 

“Monday morning. Early.” 

Bucky’s lips up twist into a tiny smirk. “I was picking up lunch. And I was staying across the street from the Tower, able to look into both yours and Amelia’s apartments. Stark should do something about that.” 

“Bulletproof glass, but I’ll mention it, thanks. You were that close?” 

“Had to keep an eye on Amelia.” And you, he doesn’t say, but Steve seems to understand it just the same. 

Steve reaches out, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face, and sets a steady hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.” 

The weight feels good, so he counts to three before shrugging it off.

***

Things start going downhill as soon as they exit the elevator. The crowd in the hospital lobby and in the streets, the seeking gaze of the older man checking them into the hotel room, it all feels like too much. The hotel is nice, the bed is sturdy, and there’s a fridge already stocked with water bottles, waiting for his arrival. He showers, shaves, and sits on the bed. He is exhausted, but his thoughts won’t slow. He keeps seeing Amelia cradled in his arms, her shirt soaked in blood, the life fading from her eyes.

There is a pizza sitting on the dresser, probably also from Steve. He eats a few slices, and then leans back against the pillows. 

With his eyes closed, there is nothing standing between him and his nightmares. He drifts off for a while, only to wake screaming. He stumbles to his feet, and makes his way to the bathroom, splashing cold water onto his face to chase away the lingering ghosts. And then he grabs his jacket and walks back to the hospital. It’s been an hour, and he knows that Steve will be upset, but he needs to be there. 

He opens the door to Amelia’s room and is halfway across the room before Steve speaks up. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” 

Bucky ignores him. His emotions are swirling and they hurt and he wants peace. He wants to go back to feeling safe, like the one good thing in his life wasn’t about to be ripped away. 

“I-- I need her.” He says, hating the way that his voice cracks as he tries to explain. That is the best he can offer. Steve nods, and goes back to his book, leaving Bucky to pull a chair over to Amelia’s side. He takes her hand, and watches her chest move with the rhythm of the respirator until his eyes drift closed.

***

Steve looks up ten minutes later to see Bucky resting his head beside Amelia’s hip, his hand still curled protectively around hers, sound asleep. He drapes an extra blanket around the sleeping ex-soldier. Bucky stirs, and Steve catches his breath, holding it until he settles. 

He can’t shake the feeling that everything that Bucky has lost is his fault. He knew that HYDRA was developing their own super serum. He knew that Bucky had been experimented on; even without the post-rescue debriefing, he’d recognized the look on his face. So the possibility of Bucky surviving the fall should have occurred to someone. It should have occurred to him, and all he can think is that if it had, if he’d had any idea what his friend was fighting to survive, he would have been there. Bucky could have lived out a normal life, married a great girl, raised a bunch of kids. Hell, he might have even named one of them for Steve; that sounds like something he would have done. 

Instead, he got seventy years of torture and mind control, and a cryostasis freeze tube between missions. The man sleeping before him was a broken shadow of the man Steve remembered, and he was torn between bundling him up and hiding him away somewhere to keep him safe, and leaving him here to go destroy HYDRA with his bare hands. 

Tony walks in a few minutes later, two cups of coffee in hand. Steve held up a finger to his lips, and then pointed to the sleeping couple on the bed. Tony frowns.

“I thought he was at the hotel.”

“He’s sleeping. I don’t care how or where,” Steve replied. 

Tony harrumphed, and handed Steve his coffee. “You want to fill me in, then? What the hell is going on here?” 

“I don’t have all of the details. I didn’t know what was going on until a couple weeks ago. From what Amy’s told me, he showed up on her doorstep two weeks after SHIELD fell. Found that picture of the two of us from your gala.” He doesn’t need to explain which picture; the damn thing caused an uproar when it first went public, as every reporter in the country tried to figure out who Captain America’s new girl was. “He tracked her down, and she invited him to stay. I don’t think there’s anything more than friendship between them; Amy’s too responsible to get involved before he’s ready. But he’s attached. Whatever they’ve gone through in the past two months, he trusts her.”

“Yeah, but is it trust and friendship, or a weird mess of codependency that we’re going to need to sort out later? Not to poke holes in your BFF’s new friendship, but there’s a huge difference between simple companionship and an unhealthy dependency. I don’t want Amelia to get hurt more than she already has been because Barnes picked her to imprint on.” 

“Imprint.” 

“Like a baby duck.” 

Steve considers his words. He hates to admit it, really hates to admit it, but Tony might have a point. He’d talk to Sam, but in the meantime… “For now, I think we should leave them be. Whatever they have, it’s keeping him from running, and with what I’ve heard from her, she’s going to want him here when she wakes up. Let her heal, we’ll move them both back into the Tower, and we’ll assess the situation from there. I’ll bring Sam in on it, too.” He takes a breath. “I don’t want to see her hurt, either.” 

“But she’s helping Barnes, so you’re more willing to risk it.” 

“I just don’t think we have anything to worry about. I’ll talk to Sam, but unless he’s worried, I think we should just wait and see what happens.” 

Tony nods. “Alright. But if she gets hurt, I’m holding you responsible.”

“I understand.” He does, and despite what Tony thinks, he’s not willing to sacrifice Amelia’s well-being for Bucky’s. But if supporting Bucky’s friendship wih Amelia is what it takes to get Bucky back, well, that’s something he’s willing to do. 

***

Steve pays the cashier, gathers the two lunches, and makes his way back up to the hospital room. Bucky stayed behind, watching Amelia through blurry, sleep-deprived eyes. Outside of the few hours he slept the day before, Bucky’s going on no sleep since the night before the accident. Steve is impressed that he’s still going, but mostly, he’s worried. Worried for Bucky, for what the lack of sleep is doing to him, and worried for the rest of them. The ex-Soldier floats between disturbingly passive, staring at the wall with a blank expression on his face, and borderline aggressive, startling every time someone comes too close and at every loud noise. Steve needed a break, taking a quick walk around the halls of the hospital before grabbing their food. Sam kept offering to come in and take a turn with Bucky and Amelia, but Steve kept holding him off. Bucky barely tolerating him and Tony. He was out-of-sorts for a couple hours after Pepper’s visit when Amelia was first admitted. The last thing Steve wanted, especially when Bucky’s grasp on everything seemed so tenuous, was to rock the boat and introduce a new person into their fragile dynamic. 

What he wants is for Bucky to come back to the Tower with them as soon as Amelia is awake and well enough to go with them. Tony has already sent her files to his medical staff in preparation for her arrival. Steve’s second bedroom is decorated and ready, if Bucky is willing to stay there. It was as close as he could get to Amelia’s apartment without actually moving in with her again, not that Amelia didn’t have her own spare room, if it came down to it. He meant what he said; ultimately, whatever happened after Amelia woke would be up to Bucky, but that didn’t stop Steve from hoping that he wouldn’t run again.

Bucky didn’t even glance up when he walked back into the room. Steve set one of the lunches down beside him and took his own seat. 

“Any change?”

Bucky just shook his head. The doctor took removed the respirator and Amelia off of the sedatives early this morning, so now, it was just a matter of waiting for her to wake. Tony was due back at any time; he’d spent the night at the Tower and was now meeting with the rest of the team, filling them in and gathering any new information on the attack. 

“I’m glad you found her,” Steve said, after several moments ticked by. Bucky just looked at him, so he continued. “She was good at making me feel like a real person again, instead of an icon. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see you with.” 

He turned his head, his troubled gaze zeroing in on Amelia’s face. “I could kill her. It would be easy. She wouldn’t see it coming.”

“Buck?”

“I almost did, a few times. Only one that she knows about. I attacked her.” He pauses. “Why the hell would you want that for her?” he asks, his voice angry.

“What did she do? When you attacked, what did she do?” Amelia hadn’t mentioned this. Hadn’t said a word about being in danger around him. 

Bucky let his head fall forward. “She got through to me. Put a blanket over my shoulders, made sure that I was okay. And then had me patch her up.” He stares at his hands, flexing them slightly. “She set my hands back on her neck. Christ, she’s so tiny, Steve.”

“Sounds like she knew what to do,” he says, cautiously. “Dames are different now, Bucky. Stronger. And Amy’s stronger than most. She reminds me of Peggy sometimes.” He paused. “Do you remember her?” 

Bucky thinks for a moment. Shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says in a soft voice. Steve can hear the shame in his voice. 

“No. Hey, it’s fine. She was one of the people involved in Project Rebirth. You knew her from around camp. Peggy was an incredible woman. And kind of terrifying. I’ll tell you some stories, once we get through all of this.” 

Bucky stares at the wall, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. “There’s a video. Amelia said she was important.” 

Steve nodded. “There’s some footage of her in the old reels.” 

“She also said you loved her.” 

His breath catches in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did. Amy told you all that?” 

Bucky shrugs, and silence falls, stretching out several minutes. 

“You changed," he says finally. A muscle twitches in his face, and he takes a breath, wets his lips. "I thought you were smaller.”

Steve can feel the pained expression on his face. He swallows hard. “I joined the Army,” he responds, the words almost getting caught in his throat. 

*** 

(Bucky’s POV)

“I joined the Army.” 

Steve’s words echo back to another time. Pain. The smell of mold and damp on cement floors and walls. The sound of explosions and the sting of smoke in his eyes. He sees the Steve’s back, covered in Army greens with a ridiculous blue helmet on his head. 

The memory slips away again, leaving the hospital room in its wake. Steve is studying his face expectantly. Bucky doesn’t know how to “You look wrong. I keep expecting...like you were before.”

Steve chuckles. “It’s been almost five years for me, and there are still times when my reflection catches me off guard.”

“You looked wrong the last time, too. Taller. Healthier. I thought it was a trick. You shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you win the war before I got there,” Steve responds. Those words catch somewhere, too, but this time, he can’t quite chase the memory. The impression is gone as quickly as it came.

A soft sound catches his attention. A hitched gasp. Amelia. He is beside her in a second. She opens her eyes, and focuses on his face. And then she smiles. It is a slight movement; she is tired and weak, but Bucky thinks that it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He bends down, his good hand running along her face. “Amelia, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital, and you’re okay. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do?”

She covers his hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze as she drifts back to sleep. 

“I get to be the best man.” 

Bucky jerks around. Stark is standing just inside the door, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Bucky glares. 

“Easy, Tony. He doesn’t know that you’re joking.”

It takes a long while for Bucky to understand. A wedding. They’re talking about a wedding. Between him and Amelia? No. He’s broken. A remnant. No one of worth. And Amelia? She deserves the very best. Someone…. Someone like Steve. He can’t think of anyone better than that.

He turns back, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek, and then returns to his position across the room, arms crossed in front of him. 

They’re wrong. There’s never going to be a chance at anything between him and Amelia. He has nothing to offer. Not that it matters; a girl like her would never be interested in a guy like him, someone with nothing more to offer than a damaged past and a grim future. Better he do what he was meant to do, take away the threats to her safety and give her the chance to find happiness with someone else and live her life in peace. 

With all she has done for him, with all that she has lost, it is the very least that he can do.


	16. Life in a Tiny Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am officially back from vacation (as of Friday afternoon), and after this chapter, will also be back to a regular Friday posting chapter. YAY!
> 
> This was supposed to be up last night, but right after I finished it, my internet decided to throw a tantrum. And then I accidentally added another 2,000 words during a last minute edit this morning. 
> 
> Anyhow, here it is. A lot happens in this chapter, and I'm rather proud of a few of the scenes. Amelia is awake, and we have a surprise Avengers guest dropping in to visit for a few minutes, too. 
> 
> Thank you all again for the wonderful comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks. They keep me motivated and make me smile. 
> 
> As always, the mistakes and Amelia are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

Amelia forces her eyes open, and squints into the room. She blinks, trying to make the world around her make sense. White walls. A steady beep. The smell of disinfectant and flowers. She closes her eyes again, takes a breath, and opens them again. 

“Amy? Hey, are you back with us?” 

The voice is familiar. “Tony?” 

His face swims into focus above her. “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” 

Her chest is throbbing, but the pain is manageable. What happened? And then it comes back to her; her home in flames, the sound of gunfire, and.. “Bucky. Where’s Bucky?” 

“Barnes is safe. Steve dragged him out for some food. That boy hasn’t left your side for more than an hour since we got here. Do you remember what happened?” 

“Some of it. How did we get away?”

“I found you and Barnes in the woods outside of Eddisburg. He saved your life.”

She nods, and then stretches a bit, immediately regretting it, as pain blooms along her left shoulder and down into her chest. . “Ow.” 

Tony leans forward, and helps to adjust her pillows. The sheet slips, and Amelia sees the hospital robe, and the loose pajama pants beneath it with the familiar Iron Man figure all over them. She glances up. Tony just grins. 

“Thank you,” she says, as he fixes the covers.

He sits at her side, taking part of the mattress. “You’re welcome. You scared me. Don’t ever do that again.” 

“I’ll do my best. Scared me a bit, too.” 

He looks tired and rumpled, and pushed right up to his breaking point. At her response, he gives her a tired smile and takes her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. 

“How long have I been here?” 

“Five days. The bullet did a lot of damage. They had to keep you under to keep you from moving and tearing things open again. And before you ask, you’re fine. Or, you will be, as long as you’re careful.” 

“Got it. No mountain climbing for a few days.” 

“And no getting shot again. Ever. I’ve spent the last five days hanging out with your new boyfriend, and I--” He cuts off when the door opens.

Steve walks in, carrying a foam box. “Turkey and potatoes okay?” 

He glances over, and sees Amelia the same moment that Bucky walks in. He stops just inside the door, and Tony is taken back by the look of fear, joy, relief, and longing that crosses the boy’s features. Bucky freezes, looking altogether uncertain of his next move, so Tony decides to help him out. 

“I was just about to help Amy tame the rat's’ nest on the top of her head, but seeing as my dinner is here..” He pulls a brush from the overnight bag and tosses it to Bucky. The boy catches it, and Tony moves across the room, grabbing his dinner and Steve before going out to the hallway. Barnes will be more comfortable without an audience. Besides, he has the cameras installed and his phone is fully charged. 

Bucky looks from the brush to Amelia, and then down again. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Bucky, look at me.” 

He glances up. A small smile settles on her features. “Hi.” 

“Hello,” he replies, voice little more than a whisper.

“Tony told me that you saved my life. Thank you. It’s all still a little foggy; I’m missing most of the details.” 

His eyes darken. “You don’t need to remember.” 

Dark circles rest beneath his eyes, and he has several days worth of stubble along his jaw. He won’t quite meet her eyes, and he is shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” 

***

He tries not to flinch at her voice. Doesn’t she understand? 

“They were after me,” he cuts in. “To bring me back.” Why is she being nice? It’s his fault that she’s in here. Does she not remember? If it hadn’t been for him, she’d still be sitting in her home, safe and secure. 

She shifts on the bed, wincing when she puts too much pressure on her injuries. 

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims, moving to her side to help her settle back. As soon as she is comfortable, he steps back to put distance between them. She catches his movement and stills. Too late, Bucky realizes that he left the brush sitting beside her. She picks it up with her good arm, and sets it on the rolling table. He awkwardly moves to stand against the wall, aware of her eyes on him the entire time. 

“Are you okay?” she asks after a few tense moments. 

“I’m fine. A couple small burns, but they already healed.” He feels like an idiot. There’s so much he wants to say. He needs to tell her that there will never come a day when her life is less important than his freedom. He needs to thank her for caring enough to offer, for wanting to protect him. He needs to touch her, and make sure that she really is okay. But he screwed up. His mission was to protect her, in exchange for her friendship and hospitality. And he broke his side of the deal. She lost her home, everything she had. She nearly died. What he deserved was punishment. He deserved to be banished from this room and told to never come near her again. He deserves the cold, or pain, or a combination that had been saved for when he really messed up. _(recalibration--so you know to do better next time.)_ So why was she still sitting there, just watching him?

“Bucky, come here.” 

He approaches the bed, until he is close enough for her to touch him. She wraps her hand around his, and tugs him down to the space beside her. “Are we okay?” 

“I failed. I’m sorry.” 

She touches his chin and gently turns his face to her. “You did not fail, Bucky. You saved my life. Don’t apologize for that.” 

“I was supposed to keep you safe.” 

“Says who?” He feels her gaze. “When is the last time you slept?”

When he doesn’t respond, she moves over, making room on the bed. “Come on.” 

He shakes his head. The one time he did fall asleep, he awoke to one a cranky woman by the name of Tanya glaring down at him. “The nurses-” 

“Won’t say a word. I promise. Go to sleep, Bucky.” 

He climbs in beside her, setting his head against the other half of her pillow. His metal arm comes around her, and he breathes in the scent of her, feels her warm against his body. Safe at her side, he is asleep within minutes. 

***

Steve watches the whole thing unfold. For all of his distrust of anyone else, Bucky trusts her. He watches as Amelia runs the fingers of her injured arm carefully along his metal arm, and the way Bucky seems to curl around her even tighter. Steve thinks back to the day before, when Bucky returned to the hospital room after what was supposed to be a few hours of sleep. ‘I need her.’ 

He wants to be the better person and pretend that it doesn’t bother him that Bucky had not only forgotten almost everything about their friendship, but also hadn’t turned to him for help. He hates the way that it hurts to watch the ex-assassin cling to Amelia, the way he really does seem to need her. And a very selfish part of him wants Bucky to need him, too. 

Tony stands up, slipping the phone back out of Steve’s hands. “Cute. Now, I don’t know about you, but I have questions. Shall we?” 

Amelia is watching the door, waiting for them. Steve walks towards her, coming around on the side Bucky occupies, and she shakes her head. “Other side,” she says softly. “You’ll wake him.” 

“Mother henning? You get that he’s a semi-robotic ex-super assassin, right?” Stark quips from the end of the bed. 

Steve ignores him, bending down to press a quick kiss to Amelia’s forehead. “How are you feeling?” 

She gives a small, tired smile. “Alright while the pain meds last. How about you? Are you doing okay with…” she nods her head towards Bucky’s prone form. 

“He’s fought me on sleep for the last four days.” 

“Oh, for pete’s sake,” Tony injects. “Is this really the discussion we’re having right now?”

They still ignore him. 

“He has nightmares. This helps. He feels secure.” 

Steve pulls a chair over near the bed. “How bad are they?” 

She drops her gaze to Bucky, and runs her hand over his back and down his arm again. “They would torture him when he failed a mission. Called it recalibration. So the weapon would work better the next time.” A pause. “We’ve had a few rough nights.” 

Tony curses. “We’ll keep him safe, Amy. The moment you’re released, you’re both coming to stay with me, for as long as it takes.” 

She yawns. She’s forgotten how tiring being injured was. She can barely keep her eyes open, and she’s only been awake for a little more than ten minutes. “It’s up to him. He needs to have the choice, and whatever he decides, I stay with him.”

Tony gives her a look that promises a discussion later, as soon as they are alone. The look softens when she yawns again, and he comes over, tucking the blankets more securely around her and, reluctantly, dropping one over Bucky as well. “You need to rest, Kid. Just.. what were you thinking? You could have brought us in. We would have protected you, both of you. You know that.” 

Amelia blinks sleepily. “If I told you, he would have run. If he stayed, I knew he was safe,” she mumbles, falling back to sleep.

***

Steve steps back, dropping into the nearest chair, his eyes never leaving the sleeping couple. 

“You got that, Cap?” 

“Loud and clear,” he responds. 

“Good.” Tony sits back, picking his tablet up from the side table and sending a quick update to Bruce. Task finished, he brought his attention back to Rogers.The man was absently doodling on a napkin, only the steady tapping of his foot belying any tension. 

“They’re both going to be out for a while. Go home and get some sleep, Rogers. I’ll watch over them for a while, and then you can take tonight.” 

Steve looked up, and nodded. He gave one last glance towards the bed, and stood. “If she wakes up, call me. I’ll come back.” 

Tony nods, and Steve leaves the room. 

Finally alone, he takes a longer look at the couple sleeping on the bed. 

Couple, he thinks, might be the wrong word, no matter how he might tease Amelia about her latest boyfriend. Describing Bucky as a stray cat--affectionate and standoffish by turn--might be more accurate. 

It’s not the first time Amelia has brought home a stray. Really, when no one could find Bucky, it should have occurred to him to go check. After she adopted Rogers two years ago, he should have known, as soon as there was a missing 1940s soldier, she’d be the most likely person to find him. 

And, here they are. Steve wants to believe that this whole thing will have some sort of perfect ending, where Bucky moves into his suite at the Tower, and Amelia moves back into her suite across the hall, and Bucky gets better, and then… 

And then, what? He doesn’t even know if Steve’s thought that far ahead, content for now just to have his friend back. Tony doesn’t get that luxury. From the moment he realized that Bucky’s involvement in Amelia’s life was more than just a simple acquaintanceship, he’s been watching. The casual touches. The way Bucky didn’t stray from her side while she was unconscious. The way Amy risked everything to keep him with her, instead of taking a chance that he might run.

Where Steve sees devotion to his best friend, Tony sees a disaster waiting to happen, with Amy caught at the center of it. He wants the best for her; he’s just not sure that she’s going to find that by tying herself, in any way, to a man who can barely function on his own. 

***

Steve leaves the hospital, hops onto his bike, and makes the short drive to the Tower. At his approach, the door to the underground garage opens, and he parks the bike, making his way to the elevator.

Just as he reaches it, the doors slide open and Barton and Natasha step out. “There’s a hostage situation in Queens. Some assholes taking a school. You in?” Barton asks. His hands twitch as if he’s already imagining the feel of his bow in his hands. They both hold that over-eager look that means they’ve been itching for a fight. 

Steve feels something in his chest relax with the promise of being able to do something more useful than sit around and watch the time pass. “Let me grab my shield. Is Thor still at the hospital?” 

“He’s sitting outside Amelia’s room with Tony, but said he’d join in if we need him,” Natasha provides. 

“Alright. Go ahead without me. I’ll take the bike and catch up.” He takes the elevator up, changes into his suit, straps the shield to his back, and rushes down to his bike. After five days in the hospital, and everything that came with that, he needed this nearly as bad as Natasha and Clint do. He hates hospitals. He hates the too-clean chemical scent and the way the air feels too heavy in his lungs, even after the serum. Every time he walks along the white corridors, he feels like he’s nineteen again, standing behind the thick glass windows of the TB ward, watching from a distance as his mother slips away. Hospitals always bring that same twisting feeling of dread to his stomach. Tony was right; this break is exactly what he needs. 

By the time he reaches the school in Queens, Natasha and Clint are out of the SUV and talking to the FBI chief. Steve strides over, and Clint slides aside, giving him enough space to see the building schematic. Blue dots represented the perpetrators, and there were larger red dots to represent clusters of students and school staff. 

The negotiators haven’t been able to make contact. The SWAT crew can’t go in without being seen and risking the lives of the hostages. The situation has been at a standstill for three hours, and Steve had to circle around a crowd of panic-stricken families to make it to the site. 

The Avengers hadn’t been asked to join, but he’s more than glad to get involved, anyhow, and going by the looks on their faces, Nat and Clint feel the same way. After a quick discussion, they get to work. 

It takes a half hour to get into the school, following the sewers down to the lower levels, and then cutting through the cement to gain access. SHIELD might have fallen, but Tony managed to snap up a lot of the technology for their use. Once inside, it didn’t take much to deal with the situation. The captors were well organized, but poorly trained; a group of pseudo-terrorists trying to raise awareness for their cause. Less than two hours later, the team is back at the Tower, and Steve’s staring into the mirror, cursing his way through applying rubbing alcohol to the cut on his forehead. It was the only injury, other than a few non-lethal wounds a few of the captors picked up, and it looks a lot worse than it really is, with the bruising around it and the depth of the cut. He heals quickly, but not quick enough to hide it from Amelia and Bucky this evening. 

They've both seen him in worse shape, though, he rationalizes, as he sticks a butterfly bandage over it. He should get going; he has one last stop to make before he returns to the hospital. 

***

The next time Amelia opens her eyes, the sky outside is just starting to turn orange with the sunset. Tony sits snoozing in a chair at the end of the bed. Bucky is still lying beside her, one arm still tucked carefully around her waist. She turns her head towards him, surprised to see him awake and watching her. 

“Hey,” she whispers. 

“Morning.” 

“Evening, I’d think. How long have you been awake?” 

He shrugs. “A while. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Liar.” 

“I’m sore, but I’ve had worse, trust me.” She pushes her hair from her face, wincing at the movement. He frowns, and pushes her hand away. “Bucky, I’m okay. I promise. How are you holding up? How was the big reunion?” 

He pushes up a bit. “Anticlimactic. We’re...doing okay. I don’t know what to say sometimes. It’s like he’s waiting for something, and I don’t know what to do.” 

“If he’s making you uncomfortable, you can say so. Just..this has to be really weird for him, too. Be gentle with him.” 

He nods, and gives her a wobbly little smile. “I missed him.” 

She squeezes his fingers. “I know. I’m glad you have each other back. Did I miss anything while I was out?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “No. Not much happened without you.” 

“I’m glad. I’m already disappointed to have missed the big reunion. I was looking forward to that.” 

“Next time, don’t get shot.”

She snorts. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” 

Bucky settles her head back down on her shoulder. “I should go get a nurse. They wanted to know when you woke up.” 

“Give it a few minutes. Just want to stay like this for a bit, okay?” She snuggles up a bit closer, and feels him shift slightly to better accommodate her. She still doesn’t remember much of the attack, but there’s a tight feeling in her chest caused by more than the stitches whenever she tries to think back. Here, with him, that feeling starts to ease. 

She is dozing lightly when the door opens. Bucky pushes up until he is standing beside the bed again just as Steve walks in. He’s carrying a backpack over one shoulder, with a take-out bag held in his right hand. Amelia glances at the bag before centering her gaze on his face. 

“What happened?” 

“Small situation in Queens; nothing to worry about. This was the only injury, and it’s already starting to heal.” 

Bucky’s gaze narrows. “What sort of situation?” 

“A group took a school and was holding it hostage. We got everyone out safely. I’m all right, Bucky. And here, I brought dinner. I swung out to Denelli’s and got your regular.” 

Bucky’s face loses the tension, and the two soldiers set up their chairs beside Amelia. They’re just sitting down to eat when Tony wakes up, blinking blearily around the room for a moment before standing with a stretch. 

“Oh, hey. Welcome back, Cap. If it’s all the same to anyone else, I’m going to head home. I have a bed and pillows and Pepper waiting on me.” 

“I brought you a sandwich,” Steve says, holding out the bag, now nearly empty. 

Tony takes it, muttering his thanks. He drops a quick kiss on Amelia’s cheek, makes her promise to call if she needs anything, and slips out the door. 

“There should be a rule somewhere about eating good food in front of someone still stuck with an IV diet,” Amelia complains, watching them eat. 

“No real food for you until tomorrow,” Steve comments. “But if you want, I’ll swing out for a milkshake for you in the morning. There’s a diner down the road that does excellent chocolate malts. I’ll even sneak it in past the nurses for you.” 

“And that’s why you’re my favorite. Putting your powers of good to use for the things that really matter.” 

Bucky snorts, but doesn’t say anything. 

***

“Tony, I want to go home.” She’s been conscious for four days. Four impossibly long days, and until this morning, she had to stay on her back or good side, mostly unmoving. She’s now sitting up, the back of the bed raised and pillows propped around for extra support. Bucky is sitting in a chair at her elbow, and is quick to readjust anything as she might need it. Steve keeps bringing in stuff for her to do, everything from books and card games to ‘new’ music he wants to share with her. Tony mostly just shows up to annoy her, if the current conversation is anything to judge by. What’s the use in being friends with a billionaire, with his own high-tech medical facility, if she had to stay in the freaking hospital for a little gun shot wound? 

“You heard the doctor, kid. You’re not going anywhere until you can sit up unassisted. You need to heal.” 

“But, I’m just sitting here. I could do that at the Tower.”

“Just sitting there with a drain tube in your lungs,” Steve reminds her. He ignores her betrayed glance. “I sympathize. Really. But if the doctor says you stay, you stay.” 

“A few more days, kid. Keep healing, and you can be home by Wednesday.” 

It’s only Saturday. Tony’s offer isn’t as great as he thinks it sounds. She wiggles the fingers on her injured side--the bullet hit a lot of muscles as it bounced around, causing some mobility issues--testing the motion again. A physical therapist stopped in this morning to give her a few small exercises she can do to start aiding her recovery, and the small movements make her shoulder ache, but they are more than she could do two days ago. 

Bucky sets his hand over her fingers, ceasing their movement with a gentle squeeze. When she glances over, he offers her a small smile and slides her another french fry. Tony keeps bringing in green smoothies to keep her healthy and promote faster healing, and has already yelled at Bucky and Steve once for sneaking in junk, but his attention is elsewhere, so Amelia grabs the fry and pops it into her mouth with a smile before Tony can catch it. 

“And don’t any of you have jobs or anything more pressing than sitting around in a hospital room?” 

“Nope,” Bucky replies. 

Tony starts typing away again on his phone. Steve sets down the newspaper, and glances over. “What’s wrong, Amy?” 

“I’m bored. I’ve been stuck in a small room with no change of scenery for the last several days, and as fun as it is to watch you all sit around every day, I know you have to be bored, too.” 

“We’re not bored,” Steve says.

“HYDRA’s still out there, doll,” Bucky reminds her, squeezing her fingers again. She moves her thumb over the back of his hand. “We’re not leaving you alone.” 

There’s a knock on the door, and then it opens, revealing a soaking wet archer. Bucky tenses beside her. Clint gives Amelia a drippy smile, and then looks over to Bucky. 

“Hi. Clint Barton. I’d offer to shake your hand, but it’s raining like a bitch out there, and I really want to get changed first.” He looks back to Amy. “It’s cool if I borrow your bathroom?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response, bringing his bag in with him, but leaving his bow case out beside Steve’s chair. When the door opens again, just a minute later, Clint is standing there in a jeans and a t-shirt, his wet clothes draped across the shower bar. 

“Better.” He tosses his bag over next to the bow case. “Tony says you’re bored. Actually, what he said was insufferable, so I brought you a present.” He holds out his hand and tosses a small package her way. She catches it a bit awkwardly, and pulls the top off. Inside is a microSD card. She looks up. 

“Use the tablet.” 

Bucky hands it over, and she slips it inside and opens up the files. “Clint-- this-- This is the next season of _Once Upon a Time_. How did you get this?” 

“Nat and I have a few contacts. That should keep you busy for a couple days. Tony, you can hook that up the the screen, right?” 

Tony snags the tablet, and thirty seconds later, the episode list is displayed on the hospital room television. 

“What’s _Once Upon a Time_?” Bucky asks. 

Clint grins. “That’s my sign to leave. Natasha already makes me sit and watch with her whenever they show repeats.” He grabs his wet clothes, equipment, and backpack, and heads for the door. 

“Clint?” 

He turns back. 

“Thank you. And Natasha, too.” 

“Call her. She’d love to hear from you.” 

“I will.” 

Clint leaves just as quickly as he came in. 

“What’s _Once Upon a Time_?” Bucky asks again. Tony groans. Steve just settles back into his chair. 

“You’re going to have to start him from the beginning,” he says, a small smile tugging at the side of his face. Amelia just grins, and cues up Netflix.

***

Bucky reaches into his bag, pulling out a notebook and turning to the final quarter of the book, starting to write. Steve watches him for a moment before Bucky glances up, catching his gaze. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, looking away again. 

Bucky is silent a moment. “It helps me to make sense of everything. My memories, both from before and now. Amelia’s idea.” 

“That’s-- that’s good, Buck. Does it help?” 

Bucky nods, and goes back to his writing. Several minutes of quiet pass before he lifts his head back up. “I draw, too, sometimes. Things I remember, people sometimes, that I don’t quite remember. Sometimes other stuff. I remember how things looked, sometimes, but I don’t have any context for them.” 

Steve considers his next words carefully. “If you’d like, sometime, I could maybe look at them, and see if there’s anything I can place for you. It’s up to you, though. If you want me to, I mean.” 

A moment passes, and then Bucky reaches into his bag, and pulls out a thick sketch pad. He opens it and flips through a few pages before stopping and, after another short pause, holding the book out. 

Steve looks down at the drawing. The lines were done in pencil, with colored pencils adding a flare of color. A tree, with a row of swings in the background. The tree is dotted with small pink flowers. He recognizes it instantly.

“This is from a park, maybe five blocks from where you grew up. Our moms used to organize a picnic every spring, as soon as the tree was in bloom. We’d all get to skip school for the day, and they’d make more food than we could eat. Most years, even your dad managed to get away from work to join us. When we were kids, we’d spend weeks dreaming about the different cakes your ma would make for that day, and my ma would make her potato salad. Even when the depression hit, they still made it work, saving up rations for a couple months, trading with the neighbors, all to make sure they had all of the right ingredients.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows draw together. “It sounds familiar, but I don’t remember any of that.” 

Steve shrugs. “That’s fine. It’ll come back to you.” 

“I don’t remember my dad’s face.” The words come out rushed, and Steve can tell that they have been lingering just under the surface for a while now. “I remember that he smelled like cigars, and that his voice was deep, and that he didn’t get home until late some nights, but every time I try to see him, there’s nothing there.” 

Steve nods. “I can--” he gestures to the sketch pad. “I’ve never come across any pictures of him, but I remember him well enough.” 

“Please.” Bucky’s voice is thick. He reaches into his bag, pulls out a pencil bag, and hands it over. Steve accepts it, pulls out a pencil, and finds a clean page to start his work. 

It’s been a long time since he tried to recall George Barnes in any great detail. But as he begins moving the lead across the paper, things start to come back. The curve of his lips matches his son’s. He was thin, cheekbones sharp, but he was strong. Dark blue eyes, a few shades darker than his son’s, and just a hint of grey at his temples. It took nearly an hour to get it right, as Bucky switched between watching Amelia sleep and taking anxious glances his way, but finally, it was done. He stuck the bags back into the pack and set it aside before handing the sketch pad back over. 

Bucky stared down at the picture, unmoving, as several seconds clicked by. As the seconds stretched towards a minute, Steve spoke up. “Bucky?” 

“I-- I remember him. Like this. I remember. Not-- Not everything. But enough. I remember him smiling.” Bucky looked up, eyes just a bit damp. “Thank you.” 

“He was so proud of you,” Steve says, after a moment, “joining the war like you did. Told everyone down at the factory that his son was gonna be a hero.” 

Bucky’s expression falls empty, and he flexes the fingers of his metal hand where he thinks Steve can’t see. “Guess I’m a long way from that.” 

“No. Bucky, no, you’re not. I know you don’t remember right now, but you were a hero. Still are.” 

Bucky shakes his head, a quick negating movement, but says nothing.

****

He needs to go. 

Bucky has sat here for the last half hour, packed bag at his feet and one eye on the door. Steve and Tony were out for the afternoon, and Amelia was sleeping soundly. It was the perfect opportunity. He’d text Steve on his way out of the hospital, telling him to get back up to Amelia’s room, ditch the phone off of the bridge as he crosses out of the city, and get to work. She’s okay now, and it’s past time that he leave. He has a mission to complete, and he can’t do it from her hospital room. 

Except, then she wakes up. She stirs, grimacing when the move tugs at her stitches, and then looks over to him. Her gaze drops, spotting the bag sitting beside his bed, and he tenses. 

Her gaze snaps back up to his face. “Bucky--” 

“I need to go. I-- I should have left already. You’ll be safe. Steve. The others. They’ll keep you safe. I can’t. I _can’t_.” 

She shakes her head, trying to push up, trying to reach for him. “Please don’t go.” 

He steps forward, first holding her hands, and then letting her wrap her arms tightly around him. He sits beside her, holding her up with gentle arms. 

“If I don’t stop them, they will come back. They’ll hurt you. They won’t ever quit.” 

“And if you go after them alone? What will they do to you?” He hears her panic, her fear for him, and he has no good response.

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me!” 

_It shouldn’t_ , he want to tell her. “I couldn’t keep you safe. They can. I need to do this. I need--” 

“Not alone.” 

“Amelia…”

“Have the others go with you. They will. They’re invested in destroying HYDRA, too. If you’re going to leave, let me call them in. It’s safer as a group.” 

No. If he takes the others, who will protect her? “This is my battle. My right. I have to do this. Everything I’ve done, everything they’ve made me do…”

“Then fight them! But don’t do it alone. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. Bucky, please.” Her voice breaks. “Please.” 

“I’ll come back,” he offers up. “If I can, I’ll come back.” 

“While the rest of us sit here, worrying and waiting? If something happens, we won’t know. They won’t be able to help you.” 

“This is my mission.” 

The look that crosses her face is heartbreaking, and lasts only a half second before her face empties of anything. “It doesn’t have to be.”

But it does. There’s no other way to repay her, no other way to keep her safe. 

“At least wait,” she says, when he doesn’t respond. “Wait until I can return to the Tower. Give me that long. I’ll be safer there, and then if you need to go, I won’t stop you.” The words cost her. Her voice is strained, her features trying too hard to hide everything he sees in her eyes anyhow. 

But, she makes a good point. She’ll be back to the Tower in a few days, and he can use the time to plan his next move. He nods, and tries to ignore the relief on her face. 

***

_The Next Afternoon_

Tony and Steve’s phones start beeping at the same time. They exchange a brief glance, and then check their screens.

“There’s a disturbance at the north east entryway,” Steve explains. “I’m going to go check it out. Stay here,” he says to Tony.

Tony nods, and comes to a stand as Steve heads to the door. 

“Be careful!” Amelia calls after him. 

“Natasha and Barton are meeting me there, and Thor is on his way, too,” he assures her, as he leaves the room. Tony and Bucky exchange a glance, and Tony’s hand flexes, preparing to call the suit if needed. Bucky shifts. Amelia raises her mattress a little more. “It’s probably nothing.” 

Bucky looks over to her, assessing the risks. “Lower the mattress, Amelia. It’ll make you a less obvious target." 

“Yeah, pretty challenging, shooting a girl in her bed. I don’t think me lying flat on my back is going to change anything if anyone comes in.” 

Bucky snatches the bed control from her hands, lowers the headrest, and then sets the control out of her reach. “We’re trying to protect you. Stop arguing.” 

Tony snorts somewhere behind him, and Amelia rolls her eyes. He ignores both of them, waiting in tense silence. Amelia is probably right. It could be nothing. He holds onto that thought even as he begins preparing for a fight. He already knows the optimal positioning for defending an attack from inside the room, which surfaces are most likely to deflect--rather than absorb--a bullet, and has a half dozen plans for getting Amelia out, should he need to. The only reason he’s not doing that right now is because she’s still hooked up to an IV and a few machines. He won’t risk her health unless he has to. 

It’s probably nothing. Still, he has to fight to reign in the Soldier. He tightens his jaw, and starts mentally listing the contents of every cabinet in the room.

Amelia stretches out a bit, and runs a finger along the back of his hand, and he curls his hand around hers. He doesn’t question how she almost always knows when he’s close to slipping, but he’s always grateful for it. 

Alarms sound at the end of the hallway. Tony looks over to him. “Stay with her.” 

He nods, and Tony suits up. It’s the first time he’s seen it in person, and Bucky can’t help but be a little impressed. 

Tony exits the room, and Bucky squeezes Amelia’s hand before he takes up his position, weapons slipping into his hands like old friends. 

“Bucky?” 

He glances back over. 

“Be careful.” 

He nods, and forces a reassuring smile to his lips. “I’ll be fine, doll.” He hears the sounds of battle outside the door, and turns his attention back to the matter at hand. The sounds are coming closer, and he feels his pulse quicken, preparing his body for the fight.

There’s a flash of black metal as the door bursts open, and the Soldier slams into place. He only has a knife and a handgun, but that’s all he needs. He moves on instinct, seventy years of training at his fingertips.

They didn’t send enough. Not even close. Which seems odd until he hears the clink of a pin being pulled from a canister, and smoke begins to fill the air. He ducks low, grabs a deep breath of clean air, and then springs back up, slashing his knife in a wide arc. Blood splatters along his face and chest, ignored as he grabs the canister in his metal hand and tosses it towards the window. The glass explodes outward, taking the canister and some of the chemical with it. Still, he’s light-headed as stands there, staring impassively down at the bodies littering the floor. He stumbles a bit, catching himself on the back of a chair. He’s breathing hard, unable to slow his frantic heartbeat. 

No one else is coming through the door, and the hallways are starting to quiet. A man’s voice, distant, is shouting, telling everyone to get into rooms and close the doors. Don’t come out until he gives the all clear.

“Bucky?” 

He glances around at the sound of a woman’s voice. Not just any woman. He knows her. She is laying down in a hospital bed, a blanket held over her face. She lowers it, says the name again. His, he thinks. 

“Bucky, come here. It’s okay now.” 

He blinks woozily at her. She is struggling to sit up, blanket forgotten in her efforts. He looks back down at the bodies, and then back to her, and then takes a tentative step towards her, followed by another. He grabs the edge of the bed for support, and she sets her hand over his, soft flesh on unyielding metal. 

“Bucky, sit down.” 

There’s no reason not to follow her command, so he does. She takes a ring of clear tube from around her face ( _oxygen_ , his mind provides), and tugs him down until she can place it over his head, two small bits coming to rest just inside his nostrils, blowing cool air into his nose. She lifts the blankets back over her own face, indicating that he should do the same. His fingers leave blood on the sheets when he grabs them. She has one hand free, and uses it to reach out, setting a hand on his leg. He shifts his hands, holding the sheets now with his metal hand so he can set his flesh hand over hers, curling fingers around her palm. 

The door opens, and he tenses, dropping the sheet and her hand as he turns, knife in hand, to face the new threat. A small group of men stand there. Not HYDRA, and not threats. The man in front, a blond with blue eyes, holds up his hands in a placating manner. 

“Easy, Buck. You know us.” He coughs a bit. “What is that smell?” 

A man in a metal suit speaks up. “A sedative. Pretty heavy. If that window wasn’t open, they’d both be out even with the low levels of concentration. Won’t hurt them, though, and it shouldn’t affect us.” 

“We’re fine, guys. I covered my mouth as soon as the canister was opened. He’s a bit wobbly, but still standing.” 

The man in front--Steve--nods. “Sit down, Bucky. Everyone’s safe. I’ll get a doctor in here to--” 

“No. No doctor.” He forces strength into his words that he doesn’t feel, but the last thing he wants is someone poking and prodding at him. His heart races at the thought, and his mind fills with men in white coats, needles and clipboards in their hands. Panic claws its way through his chest. He hears someone call his name, but it feels far away, like someone shouting into a long tunnel. 

A soft touch on his hand brings him back. His tightens his hand around the source, shaking as reality slides back into place. He is Bucky Barnes. He is sitting in a hospital room in Manhattan. He is a man, not an asset, and he is surrounded by friends. Safe. His breath shudders out of him, painful as it leaves his body. His lungs and throat hurt. There are dead men at his feet, and Steve is staring at him like he’s expecting an attack. 

“Bucky?” 

He turns towards Amelia, getting caught up in the plastic around his face. He pulls it away, blinking in confusion at the tubing, and then down at Amelia. Her smile is tired, and he remembers that the oxygen is meant to go on her face. He reaches out to return it to her, but catches sight of the blood on his hands and freezes. He can’t touch her, not like this. 

She reaches out and sets the tubing aside, despite the protests behind him, and gestures to something across the room. A few seconds later, he sees Steve move closer to the bed, a wet washcloth in his hands. Amelia accepts it. 

“Help me sit up, Bucky. I can’t reach you.” 

With numb fingers, he reaches out and grabs the bed control, pressing the button that brings her to a sitting position before setting the control back beside her. She takes his hand and starts soothing off the blood from his skin. They are both silent, nothing between them but his trembling hand. The water on the cloth is warm, her fingers are cool. He focuses on her touch, letting it wipe the lingering panic away as she wipes away the blood. Somewhere behind him, he’s aware of the others leaving, with the exception of Steve, who lingers in the background. 

As soon as one hand is clean, Steve moves in, handing her another clean cloth. She takes his prosthetic in her hand, cleaning it with the same care she used for his other hand, working slowly to get between the plates. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, as she moves onto the last bloodied section of his hand. 

She pauses in her work, glancing up at him. “For what?” 

“They were here for me. And you had to see--” he gestures limply to the bodies.

She follows the move, swallows hard, and looks back to him. “You were protecting me.” 

“This wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve says, coming up beside them to switch off cloths again. He also has a clean shirt, which he holds out until Bucky takes it. At Bucky’s pointed stare, he turned his back. Bucky quickly stripped off the stained shirt and dropped it onto the floor. Steve turned back once the clean shirt was in place, snaking a foot out to pull a chair over. Bucky noticed that he tried to avoid looking at the bodies, too, bodies that would have already been dealt with, if the medical staff wasn’t afraid of facing off against the Winter Soldier. He grimaces. When did this become who he was? 

Amelia catches his attention again, and sits up a little higher (and tugs him a little closer) so that she can start wiping the blood off of his neck and face. She has one hand set against one cheek while she works, and he leans into it, eyes drifting closed for a moment. He’s still dizzy from whatever chemical they loaded into the canister, and with his eyes closed, the room spins slower. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” 

“‘m jus’ tired,” he slurs. He feels Steve move into position beside him. 

“Come on, Buck. Why don’t you lay down, all right?” He feels large hands on his arms, but there’s no panic. He follows them down until he is cocooned at Amelia’s side, one arm flung across her and his face pressed into her shoulder. 

“Please, call the others,” Amelia asks, as soon as Bucky is sleeping beside her. “If they come back…” 

Steve nods. “I know. We’ll keep him safe, Amy.”

Tony walks in, papers in hand. “Your discharge papers,” he says, waving them about. “I have transport arranged. We’re bringing you home where it’s safe.” He pauses, taking in Bucky’s prone form. “Is he okay?” 

“Whatever they had in the canister knocked him out. I think he’s just sleeping,” Steve explains. 

“My medics will be here in a few minutes. I’ll have them do a full workup while he’s still out. He’s coming with us.” 

Steve nods. “Yeah. It’s time. What do you think, Amy? Ready to go home?” 

She looks at Bucky’s sleeping form, trying to ignore her panic. Wasn’t it just two days ago that she wanted to go back to the Tower? Now, it’s the last place she wants to be. 

“He’s leaving. Going after HYDRA alone, as soon as I was back there and safe.” She looks back up to Steve, who looks stricken. “You can’t let him. Please. Don’t let him go alone.” 

Steve nods. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises. “For now, let’s get you back to where we can keep a better eye on you. _Both_ of you. All right?” 

She agrees, but tightens her grip on Bucky just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Tower in the next chapter!


	17. There's No Place Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Sorry. There's a longer explanation in the notes at the end, but the short version is that I've been under a ton of stress, my mind has been all over the place, and it was showing in the story. It took a while to try to form a cohesive chapter out of the scribbles I started with. I'm still not happy with it, but... I know that I'm not going to be able to make it the way I want it until after the crazy dies down a bit. 
> 
> A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this fic, to comment or leave kudos, to subscribe or bookmark... You all mean the world to me. We just passed 4,000 hits. That's about 3,500 more than I thought we were going to have, and I love you all. Seriously. You keep me writing, even on the rough days. I need that.
> 
> As always, I own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

Within twenty minutes of Tony entering the hospital room, Amelia is leaving it, settled into a wheelchair with Bucky beside her on a stretcher. Tony and Steve stand on either side of them. They are escorted to a private underground parking area, where a black van is waiting for them. 

“That’s not ominous at all,” she quips, as the van comes into view. 

“Well, we asked for green, but the black was all that was left on short notice,” Steve jokes. They load Bucky into the back and secure the wheels before Steve lifts her up and slides her into one of the seats at Bucky’s side. The wheelchair is folded and placed in beside her.

Half an hour later, Amelia is settled into the medical suite, her bed finally more like a real bed instead of a medical device. Bucky sleeps on, soundly, in a second bed, only a half dozen feet from her own. Not close enough to touch, as Steve and Tony both worry that he may wake disoriented, but close enough to watch over him. Both men left the room as soon as both Bucky and Amelia were settled, Tony likely called off by some science task, and Steve to go shower before taking the first night shift.

She's looking forward to the moment when they decide she doesn’t need a babysitter anymore. 

Bruce was already waiting in the room when she arrived, a gentle smile on his face to greet her. He walks over now, glancing through the files as he moves.

“Heard you’ve been having an adventure,” he comments. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine. Bit tired, but I think I’m too wound up after everything to sleep right away.” 

“I’d offer to give you something, but after the exposure to the toxin, I don’t think it’d be wise.” 

“I don’t know if I’d accept it if you did,” she replies. “It’ll just take me a bit to settle.” 

Bruce’s gaze moves to Bucky. “You’re worried.” 

“He seems to have that effect on me.” 

“We’re running a blood panel now, but he looks healthy enough. JARVIS scanned him as soon as he entered the elevator. And you seem to be healing up fine. We’ll take the tube out tomorrow, and in another day or two, we should be able to get you back on your feet. Are you sticking around for a while?”

Amelia’s gaze cuts back over to Bucky. “I think I’ll be here for a while, yeah. So, how did you get doctoring duties, anyhow? This isn’t your area, really, is it? Not that I mind, but--” 

He waves his hand, cutting her off. “I’m always happy to step in for a friend. And Tony was very insistent.” 

“That sounds closer to the truth.”

Tony walks back into the room, smoothie in hand. “Alright, doc. You’re off the clock. Scoot.” 

Bruce shakes his head, and gives her a frustrated smile. “If you need me, I can be here in minutes.” 

“Thank you.” 

Bruce leaves, and Tony waits until the door closes to sit down on the bed, handing her the drink. “This will help you relax, and I had Dum-e put in an extra banana for you.” 

She takes a sip, and leans back. “What a day.” 

Tony chokes out a half laugh. “You aren’t wrong. Are you okay? No lasting side effects, headache or anything?” 

“Bit tired, but it’s getting late, so that might not even be from the chemical.” 

“How’s everything else?” 

She shrugs. “Twingey, but okay.” 

He casts her a look, and then moves the blanket, uncovering her pajama-clad legs. “Jarvis, privacy protocols.” 

“Of course, sir.”

He starts with the left, deft fingers working along the muscles, loosening them and working away some of the pain. Amelia leans back, a soft smile playing on her lips. 

“If more women knew you could do this, Pepper would have to start beating them away with a stick again.” 

“I’m a mechanic. You’d think being good with my hands would be an obvious conclusion.”

“You’d think.” 

Bucky lets out a soft snore in his sleep, and Amelia grins, watching him settle deeper under the blankets. 

Tony is eyeing her carefully when she turns back. “Don’t do it, kid.” 

“Don’t do what?” 

“Don’t fall for him. There’s no way you’re walking away from that without serious damage.” 

“Tony, I’m not--” 

“The look on your face says differently,” he cuts in. “Look, I get it. Well, no, I don’t, but I bet Pepper would. Broken, beautiful men are a hot commodity, but we’re hell on the heart. I don’t know why Pepper puts up with me. I thank the universe for her every single day.” 

“I’m not falling in love with him.” 

Tony nods. “Just, be careful, Amy. The last thing I want is to see you hurt.” He finishes one leg and switches to the other. 

“I know. I’ll be fine.” 

His expression is doubtful, but he keeps any further thoughts on the matter to himself. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m working on some updates to your office, as well as having Pepper set up an actual office somewhere on the private SI office floor.” 

“I still haven’t agreed to work for you,” she reminds him, but really, it’s an empty protest, and they both know it. She’d only been awake for a couple days when Tony informed her that he’d quit her job for her ( _‘Your boss says he hopes you feel better soon'_ ), and that Pepper was drawing up a new employment contract for her. She objected mostly because she could, out of habit more than anything else. 

He shrugs. “You will. Come on, kid, I’m paying what Pepper assures me is an obscene amount, you get to stay here for free--” 

“--which I could do anyhow.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point.” 

No, the point is that after more than two years, there are finally more reasons for her to stay than there are for her to move away again, and he knows it. She’s finally going to be here, where he knows that she’s safe, and after the last few weeks, telling him no would be heartless. He worries. He’s always worried, but this was the first time that he’s ever had a really good reason to do so. 

“Tell Pepper I want the same arrangement for Wednesday, and the option for flexible hours if I need them.” 

“Absolutely. And you can work from your own office, or your bed, or Steve’s apartment, or wherever, any time you want to. And I’ll throw in a new car. And a new wardrobe.” 

“Both of which my insurance will replace, actually. And besides, if I’m living in New York, what do I need a car for? I can just borrow one of yours.” 

He starts to protest, but just shrugs again. “Deal.”

“Captain Rogers is requesting entrance,” Jarvis informs them. Tony stops his massage, and pulls the covers back over her legs. 

“Send him in,” Tony requests. The door slides open, and Steve walks in, freshly showered, with a couple boxes of pizza in hand. 

“Still hot,” he says, setting them on the counter. He pulls out some paper plates from the cupboard (team meals in the medical suite weren’t an uncommon thing, some weeks), and then comes back, carrying two plates. Tony is already over getting his own. 

“Thanks,” Amy tells him, as he hands her one of the plates. 

“Pepper ordered them.” He glances over to the other bed. “He’s still out?” 

“Bruce said it would be a while before his body could metabolize the toxin, but it didn’t actually damage anything. He’s just going to take a long nap.”

“I’m going to talk to him when he wakes up,” Steve said, “I’ll do my best to get him to stay.” 

“Where else is he going to go?” Tony asks, coming back over and rejoining the conversation. “Amelia’s here.” 

“He wants to go finish things with HYDRA,” Amelia responds. “And he plans on going alone.” 

“Ah. Self-sacrifice himself for the good of the all? Or, at least, for the good of the girl? Cap’s best friend; I can see it. Stupid of him, though, when we’re all as eager to stomp out HYDRA as he is.” 

Steve lets out a small breath. “So, you’ll help?” 

Tony steals a small glance at Amelia, and then nods. “You didn’t even have to ask.” 

After a while, Tony leaves and Steve sets up in the chair between the two beds, tucking into a thick paperback. Amelia looks past him to the other bed. Bucky’s still sleeping deeply, curled onto one side, his hands loose in front of him. 

He’s leaving. That’s the only thing she can think as she watches him. He’s heading out to take on HYDRA, and she’s running out of ways to stop him. She’s at the Tower. She’s safe. She’s nearly back on her feet. And he has no more reasons to stay, and every reason to go after the people who stole his life. 

And all she can do is sit on the sidelines and hope he makes it back, if that’s even his plan. That, and hope Steve has a trick or two up his sleeve to convince the stubborn man to accept help on his mission. 

And if he refuses the help, all Amelia can hope is that he at least waits long enough to let her say goodbye.

 

***

Steve is the only one up when Bucky finally awakes. Amelia is sleeping off the excitement of the day, aided by pain medication, the smoothie, pizza, and the lingering effects of whatever HYDRA put in the canister. The others are off in their own rooms. So, when Bucky jerks to awareness, sitting up, eyes wide, breathing hard, it’s Steve who is there. 

“Bucky. Hey, you’re safe. It’s okay.” 

Bucky’s gaze shifted frantically around the room before landing on Steve. He shook his head sharply. “No. No.”

Steve steps forward, hands raised at his side. “Bucky, it’s Steve. We’re at the Tower. You’re safe.” He takes another step forward, and Bucky freezes, his muscles tensing and then releasing as he prepares to fight. 

“It’s 2014. You’re in a medical suite at Stark Tower. We brought you here after HYDRA attacked the hospital, to keep you and Amelia safe.” 

Recognition sparks in his eyes, and at Amelia’s name, his entire body goes still. Steve nods his understanding. “She’s beside you, Bucky, in the next bed.” 

Bucky’s eyes track to her, blank expression traded in for concern. Steve watches as he gathers himself, snapping out of whatever state he woke in. After a moment, he lets out a slow breath and turns to Steve. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s fine. You’ve been sleeping for almost twelve hours. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” He pauses a moment, as if taking stock of his physical state. “Rested.” 

“I can imagine. JARVIS ran tests, and it was developed to work specifically with your blood.” Steve smiles. “You still snore, by the way.” 

Bucky ignores him, pulling the blankets off and coming shakily to his feet. He walks the short distance to Amelia’s bedside and stands there, looking down at her as she rests.

“It didn’t hurt her?” 

“No. She’s fine. Just tired out from the excitement and the move here. Are you hungry? There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge. I think there’s pepperoni and supreme left. I’ll heat it up; which kind would you like? Or both. You can have both, if you want.” Steve’s aware that he is starting to babble. The sudden rush of nerves is unexpected and unwelcome. 

Bucky doesn’t turn around. “Why am I here?” 

Steve lets out a slow breath. “Because she wouldn’t leave without you, and neither would I. Here, we know that you’re safe. And it’s also the safest place for Amy right now, too.” 

“Not like we have anyplace else to go,” Bucky says, finally, after a moment of silence. 

Steve grimaces at the hollow sound of his voice. “Not for the moment, no,” he admits. “There’s not enough left of her home to even try to repair. Pepper is taking care of the details. She’ll get enough from insurance to rebuild, if she decides to, or to move somewhere new.” 

Bucky glances his way, and looks like he’s about to speak, but then he gives a miniscule shake of his head. “Pepperoni,” he says finally.

It takes Steve a moment to remember what Bucky is talking about, but once he does, he moves over to the mini fridge and pulls out the leftovers, sticking the whole plate into the microwave and pressing the start button. He keeps one eye on the numbers counting down and one eye on Bucky, who seems content to watch over Amy. 

The microwave beeps and Steve pulls out the plate, ignoring the hot ceramic against his fingers, setting it on a counter and dividing the slices out onto two paper plates. He grabbed a few napkins and carried both over to the couple of chairs set out near Amelia’s bed. Bucky takes his plate and takes a bite of the piece on top. 

“Bucky, we need to talk.” 

He stiffens. 

“Amy said you’re leaving to take down HYDRA alone.” 

“Don’t.” 

“I can’t let you do that, Buck. Not by yourself. Let us back you. We have resources at our disposal that you don’t have. And we can do more together than you can do alone.” 

His jaw goes tight. “I won’t risk you. This is my battle.”

“I died trying to stop them, too,” Steve reminds him quietly. At Bucky’s glance, he continues. “I thought I’d succeeded. As the plane went down, I even told myself that it was worth it. That we had both sacrificed ourselves so that the rest of the world would be safe. And then I wake up, and they’re still here, stronger than they ever were in our time. And they had you.” He pauses, his eyes locking on Bucky’s. “It’s as much my battle as yours.” When Bucky doesn’t immediately respond, he continues. “You’re not alone, Bucky. Not in this, not in anything else. Give us a chance. Let me show you what we can do.” 

Bucky says nothing. 

“Look, at least think about it. Let me show you around the Tower. Meet the rest of the team. Make your decision once you have all of the information.” 

“And then?” 

“I’m still going with you. Your choice is in whether or not you take the others with you, too.” He doesn’t mention that Tony has already promised to help, with or without Bucky’s invitation.

Something in his expression bursts to life, animation where a moment ago there was a hard-fought battle for control. “Dammit, Steve. This isn’t your battle!” 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine, too. End of the line, Bucky.” 

“Still so willing to get yourself killed. You’re an idiot, Rogers. You should be here, taking care of Amelia, not following me.” 

“I’ve always followed you, Buck. I don’t see any reason to stop now.” 

Bucky just shakes his head, and turns his gaze back to the woman sleeping on the bed before him. “Seem to remember it being the other way around,” he mutters. 

Steve chokes on a laugh. “Think we kept it pretty even.” 

***

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. He’s not tired anymore, but his head still feels a little groggy and stuffed. He doesn’t remember much of what happened in the hospital room, and the terror of forgetting again is starting to press in. Waking up in an unfamiliar place, one he didn’t agree to go to, isn’t helping. 

Struggling to be Bucky Barnes isn’t helping, either, but he thinks if Steve saw how messed up he really was at the moment, he might not be so willing to leave him in here with Amelia. Panic is starting to creep in, making his heart beat too fast and his hand shake, and he is struggling hide it.

Amelia is lying on her back, resting peacefully, dark hair fanned around her head as she sleeps. She looks more at ease, the tiny crease in her forehead smoothing out, finally out of the hospital and surrounded by friends. Her head is turned slightly towards his bed, as if she’d fallen asleep watching him. Watching out for him. The thought releases some of the tightness in his chest, just enough to let him breathe again. He brushes a strand of hair from her face, and she turns towards his touch, even in her sleep.

“Let her rest, Bucky.” 

He lets his hand fall away, leaning further back into his chair, and fighting the instinct to curl his shoulders inwards. 

“You used to do that to me, when I was sick. Check my temperature, or put a new cloth on my forehead. I could tell how worried you were about me by how often you found an excuse to touch me. Like you were making sure that I was still there.” 

Bucky glances over, and tries to remember. Taking care of Steve sounds familiar. It sounds like something that he might have done once, but there’s no emotion, no memory there to make it real. He doesn’t feel anything. And he knows he should. So he just makes a vague sound of agreement and hopes that it’s enough. 

It seems to be, because Steve goes on about other shared memories, happy to keep up both halves of the conversation. Bucky only half pays attention. With every story, every example of who he used to be, the tightness in his chest grows. 

Won’t Steve be disappointed when he figures out that the Bucky he has now is a far cry from who he lost in ‘45. And Bucky doesn’t have the heart, or the strength, to tell him. Because Bucky thinks that, even if he doesn’t remember the adventures they had as kids or the people they met during the war, he still needs Steve Rogers. And that terrifies him. The Soldier needed no one. Bucky Barnes, as it turns out, isn’t good at being alone. Maybe he never was. And while he can’t say it, he’s awfully glad that Steve is insisting on coming with him when he goes after Hydra, even if it is risky and stupid and right up Steve’s alley, apparently, given the stories he’s telling now. 

But Steve doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know that Bucky has fewer memories than he’s letting on, or that he’s real close to the edge right now, or that the last time Steve almost died, in the warehouse in Belarus, was his fault. And Steve is real quick to accept any faults, but Bucky’s pretty sure that there’s a limit, end of the line or not. 

For now, he bites his tongue, and nods at all of the right places, and tries to hide how not okay he actually is.

***

Amelia’s wakes with a stretch, and a not-so-gentle reminder of the reasons she’s not supposed to move her left arm. 

“Oww,” she groans. 

“Okay there, doll?” 

She opens her eyes, and sees Bucky standing beside the bed. 

“Frickin’ peachy.” 

He snorts, and sits down beside her. “Steve just left to get breakfast. Are you hungry?” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” She squirms a bit. “Help me sit up, Bucky.” 

He reaches behind her, gently lifting with both arms as she brings her good arm up around his neck. One he has the pillows situated behind her, he knows that he should let go, let her rest back against them. But he can’t quite let go, and it doesn’t help when she tightens her hold on him, either, pressing her face against his neck like she’s afraid to let him go. 

_Oh._

“I’m not leaving, doll. Not yet.” 

“I was afraid that you’d be gone before I woke up,” she confesses softly. 

“I won’t go without saying goodbye,” he promises. “And Steve will be going with me, maybe the others.” 

Her grip tightens again before she releases him and sits back. “Thank you.” 

He flashes her what he hopes is a cheerful smile. “You should be thanking Steve.” 

“What am I getting thanked for?” Steve asked, walking in with a tray piled high with food. 

“Bucky staying.” 

“For a little while,” Bucky jumps to correct. 

“And then him not wandering off alone again.” 

“Well, I can’t leave him to defeat HYDRA without me,” Steve says with an easy smile. 

“He should be more worried about what you’ll do while he’s gone,” Amelia jokes. “I mean, that’s kind of how this,” she gestures to Steve, waving to include his whole body, “whole thing got started, isn’t it? He left you unattended for five minutes?” 

Bucky glances over. “Is that how long it took?” 

Steve blushes and shrugs. “Luck finally won out. Had to happen sooner or later.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. Saying goodbye to Steve his last night in Brooklyn, leaving him standing in the center of the recruitment building at the fair? That’s one of the few things about Steve that he does remember, right along with the relief of knowing that Steve was going to be in Brooklyn, relatively safe, while he was gone. 

He doesn’t remember their reunion in Europe, and Steve hasn’t gotten around to telling him about it yet, but Bucky sincerely hopes that there was a lot of yelling involved. 

“So, Tony finally talked me into working directly for him,” Amelia says, changing the subject. 

“Does that mean you’re sticking around?” Steve asks. 

“For now, at least. It’s going to take a while to figure out what I’m doing next, in any case. My whole life, down to a box. I guess that’s one way to declutter.” She passes it off as a joke, but he can hear the pinch of pain in her voice, too.

“Could be worse,” Bucky says. “I don’t even have that.”

Amelia looks over to Steve. "You haven't told him?"

“Told me what?”

“I have a few boxes of your things in your room. Becky’s oldest daughter had a couple in her attic that she gave to me the first time I visited, and I picked up a couple more things from historical societies and museums.” 

Bucky’s not entirely certain which part of that to focus on: the stuff or the fact that he has a room here in this monstrosity of a building. 

“Go show him,” Amelia suggests. “I’ll be fine here for a while.” Steve gives him an inquisitive glance, and he nods. He follows Steve down the hall and into the elevator. The doors open to a long hallway, painted dark, with…

“Is that chalk?” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah. There’s this special kind of paint that turns walls into chalkboards. Amelia surprised me with all of this one weekend. It’s usually just me and her up here, but I’ve seen contributions from everyone else, too. Chalks in the drawer around the corner. Feel free to add whatever you’d like.” 

He takes in the little doodles interspersed with better work that he recognizes as Steve’s. There is a picket fence leading up to Amelia’s door, with flowers and trees along the way, and a ‘Welcome Home’ on a garden sign. Steve’s side is-- Bucky blinks, takes in the details again, and then turns to Steve,who is watching him with a barely hidden look of expectation. 

There’s a railing. Beyond that, he sees a brick street and a row of dusty looking buildings. Brooklyn, he realizes. But he _knows_ this. He knows this scene like it’s imprinted on a part of his soul. 

“Outside your apartment. The one you shared with your mom.” 

“Yeah.” Steve shrugs. “I just.. I wanted you to have something familiar, just in case. I started this after I got home from the hospital.” 

Bucky nods. “Thanks.” 

Steve presses his thumb to the keypad, and the door leading to his apartment unlocks with a click. The lights automatically come up as Steve opens the door, and he steps aside, letting Bucky enter. 

The apartment is sparsely decorated. There are a few pictures on the wall, and a couple of bookshelves stacked with a mishmash collection of books and drawing pads. There’s a couch and some chairs, a coffee table. A shelf against one wall that held a record player, the records held in the shelving beneath it. He can see the kitchen and dining area in the back, and a hallway leading towards the right. There’s a side room, a study, to the left of the living room. 

“Your room is down the hall, third door on the left. We can change anything you want, or anything else around the apartment, really. This is all half yours.” 

Steve busies himself in the kitchen, leaving Bucky to explore on his own. He makes his way down the hall, counting the doors as he goes. One (storage). Two (bathroom, with a second side door, presumably leading to his room). The third door is made from a light brown wood, and sets heavy on the hinges. The knob turns easily, and he slowly pushes it open. 

The design is simple and sparse, not unlike the rest of Steve’s apartment. There’s a king size bed pushed against one wall, with a bed stand and nightlight on the right side. There’s a wooden chest at the end of the bed, and he doesn’t have to open it to know that it holds spare blankets and sheets. A dresser is pushed up against one wall, a desk and chair against another. But it’s the shelves that catch his attention. 

He sees an old photograph of him, Becky, and his mom. He sees the hat from his time in the army, before he was recruited to the Howling Commandos. There are a few old books stacked on one shelf, and a small collection of records on the shelf below. He sees a stack of letters, a baseball and glove. There are two cardboard boxes still set out beside the shelf, and he can see his uniform hanging through the open closet door. 

“I didn’t know what to do with it all,” Steve says from the doorway. “I thought you’d like to sort through the rest yourself, when you feel up to it.” 

“This is all mine?” 

“Everything in the room, and you’re welcome to anything else in the apartment, too. This is your home, if you’d like it.” 

Bucky looks around the room again, looking around at the furniture, the few decorations, and his belongings. It’s more than he thought he’d get, hardly the prison cell he’d feared. He lets out a stuttering breath. “Thank you.” 

Steve nods, still leaning against the doorframe. “Go ahead and settle in. I’m going to go start putting together lunch.” 

Steve leaves the door open a crack when he goes, and Bucky listens as he walks down the hall. A moment later, he hears water spilling into the sink. Satisfied, he takes another look around, pausing this time to pick things up, turn them this way or that as he tries to remember. All he gets is a headache starting to pulse behind his eyes, so he sets the last thing down and goes over to check out the bed. 

The blankets are plush, silk-soft, and a light blue color. The mattress is firmer than he would have expected. He leans back, head landing on the pillows. It’s a comfortable bed. A nice room, much nicer than any he thinks he’s ever had before, and he can tell that Steve put a lot of time and care into decorating it. He even likes it. 

It just doesn’t feel like home. Not yet. Maybe in time, he thinks. Still, it’s comfortable and it’s safe, and it’s not a prison cell, so he’s not going to question it. 

He’s still examining the room (having moved onto the bathroom) when Steve knocks on the door. “Lunch is ready when you are. I thought I’d take some into Amelia, if you wanted to join me.” 

Bucky follows him out, grabbing two of the plates of sandwiches and sliced fruit, and lets Steve lead the way back to the medical floor. The elevator brings them to the right floor without Steve needing to press any buttons or give any voice commands, which seems odd, but on top of all of the other oddities in his life, it’s a minor one. 

Bruce is still there when Bucky and Steve walk in. The ex-assassin freezes just inside the door, warily watching the newcomer to their space. 

The other man gives him a friendly smile, and waves one hand. “Bruce Banner. I’m Amy’s doctor, for the time being. You were sleeping when they brought you in, so we didn’t have the opportunity to meet last night.” 

Bucky just nods, and gives him a wide berth when walking over to the chair still placed by Amelia’s bed. 

“How’s she looking?”Steve asks, going to stand beside the doctor.

“Well enough to take the tube out this afternoon, according to the actual doctors reviewing her chart. I’ll be here, but one of them will perform the actual procedure.” 

“Can we stay?” Steve asks. 

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll go now so you can eat, and I’ll be back in an hour with the doctor.” Bruce slips out the door. 

“About time,” Amelia comments, rubbing absently at the insertion site. “This feels so weird, and the stitches pull every time I try to move.” 

Steve gives her a sympathetic look, and pats her hand. “Soon.”

“What’d you think of your room?” she asks.

Bucky stares down at his sandwich and shrugs. He’s grateful that Steve took the time to gather some of his old stuff, but it’s overwhelming, and if he thinks about it too much, it feels like a lot of pressure. “It’s a lot of stuff,” he says, finally. “I remember some of it.” 

“That’s good, though,” Steve supplies. “I mean, it’s a sign that you’re getting better, right?” 

“Sure,” Bucky responds lightly, stabbing at a piece of fruit. 

There was a moment of strained silence, and then, “You okay, Buck?” 

“Fine. Tired, I think.” He isn’t. 

“Do you want a nap before dinner?”

Bucky fights to keep his face neutral. “I’m fine.” 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Steve give Amelia a helpless glance. She shakes her head, a quick, tiny movement. They all finish their meals in silence, with another forty minutes before Bruce is due back. Steve gathers their plates to run back to his apartment, leaving him with Amelia. She waits until Steve leaves to reach out, wiggling her fingers when she can’t reach his hand. He moves his chair a little closer, and slips his fingers around hers. 

“He’s trying,” she tells him, rubbing her thumb against his skin. 

“I know.” 

“Maybe a little too hard?” 

“He wants me to remember. He wants _his_ Bucky back.” And that’s the issue, he realizes, as he says it. The apartment filled with mementos of who he used to be, the expectant, hopeful look every time he’s faced with something Steve thinks he should, or even might, remember; it’s like trying to fit inside the skin of a dead man. 

Amelia shakes her head. “He wants _you_. He’s trying to help. Maybe he just doesn’t know how. Be patient with him.” 

His gaze drops, and Amelia tugs at his hand. “Come here.” 

He slides over next to her, and she slips her arm around her lower back and leans into him. He puts his metal arm around her, and she snuggles in a little closer. 

“This isn’t how I thought all of this would go,” she admits. “I thought maybe have Steve up for lunch or something, maybe have you meet Sam sometime after that. I was going to save the Tower for a few months from now.” 

“It’s not so bad. Pretty sure I’ve faced worse.” 

“Mmm. That doesn’t make it easy, though.” 

He doesn’t respond, just sits there, his back against her pillows with her pressed against his side. The fingers of her right hand are curled lightly into his side; warm through the long sleeved shirt he’s wearing. The room is quiet, and it’s finally just the two of them. It’s secure here, safer than the hospital, and for just a moment, he can let his guard down and just be. 

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but I’m really glad that you’re still here,” she says, after a long pause. He looks down at her, where she’s resting her head against the juncture of metal and flesh. Even through the shirt, he can feel how the two parts of his body register the touch in different ways. His shoulder registers nothing but pressure. The area between his neck and the metal feels the heat and the way she fits into the small curve where his neck meets the rest of his body. 

“Me, too,” he says, honestly. She tilts her head and smiles up at him, and he briefly tightens his arm around her before setting his cheek against the top of her head. 

The door slides open, and Steve walks in. He glances at the two of them, and a tiny hint of a blush runs up the side of his neck. “Am I interrupting something?” 

Bucky tenses, but Amelia just laughs it off, and gets Steve to join them on her other side, taking his hand in hers. Steve presses a kiss to the top of her head and leans back beside them. Bucky glances over, watching the way Steve relaxes beside them. Bucky can still see the stress and worry around his eyes, but he’s at ease here, in an ultra-secure fortress surrounded by other heros. Teammates. Friends. 

He remembers the look on Steve’s face when they pulled Amelia out of the jet when they landed at the hospital. He looked young, insecure. Lost. This, here and now, he’s back in his element. A fearless leader. A loyal friend. 

And Bucky isn’t a part of things. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But seeing Steve so confident, it makes it easier for him to relax, too.

Tony walks in a while later, followed by Bruce, a doctor, and a nurse. “Okay, Cap, Frostbite, if you’re both done cuddling our patient, the doctor here is ready to do his job.” 

Steve slides off, walking around to the other side of the bed. Bucky moves to stand beside him. Tony and Bruce stand at the end of the bed. 

“I don’t know if this is going to be as exciting as you all seem to think it will be,” Amelia jokes, glancing up at the four heroes surrounding the bed. 

“That’s alright. Bruce said no popcorn during the procedure, so I have some medical documentaries queued up in the lab for once we’re done here,” Tony jokes. 

Bucky edges closer, and holds his hand out, just enough that Amelia can take it or not. She gives him a grateful little smile, and slips her hand into his.

The doctor unbuttons the buttons along the side of her hospital robe and starts removing the bandages. “Alright, dear. When I say, take a deep breath, and then slowly blow it out. You’ll feel a tugging sensation, but this shouldn’t hurt a bit.” 

Amelia nods, and tightens her grip on Bucky’s hand. “Just look here, doll,” he soothes, sitting down on the bed beside her. She focuses on his face, and he gives her a little smile. She feels the doctor’s hands on her side, as he prepares the bandage, securing it on three sides, but leaving the last open for removing the drain. 

“Alright. Deep breath in,” Amelia breathes in. “And let it out now. Nice and slow.” 

There’s a tugging feeling from what feels like somewhere deep inside her chest, and she winces. There’s no pain but the sensation is unpleasant. 

“Easy, sweetheart.” He’s rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand, giving her something else to focus on. In seconds, she feels one last tug, and the doctor is securing down the last side of the bandage. 

“You’re all set. Keep an eye on it. If it looks puffy or irritated, or if you notice any discharge, I’ll come check on it, but there shouldn’t be any issues.” 

Amelia turns back. “Great. Thank you.” 

“You’ll feel numb for a bit,” Bruce tells her. “Rest tonight, and tomorrow, we’ll get you up on your feet again. As soon as you can walk, you can go back to your apartment.” 

“We can’t try it now?” 

“Tomorrow,” he repeats, smiling at her impatience. “Give the anaesthetic a chance to wear off. I’m sure you’re eager to get back into your own space, but it’ll only be a couple more days.” 

“I can have JARVIS prepare a report on everything new that’s going on with the green energy division, get you back up to speed, if you’re looking for something to do,” Tony offers. “I’ll have everything sent to your-- Well, actually, we have new tablets that need testing, seeing as Bucky confiscated yours. You’ll like these. Test it for me, and then we’re handing them out to the team in a few weeks. I’ll load all of your settings and data up for you.” 

She nods. “I’m ready as soon as you have it set.” 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Steve reminds her. 

“I will be! I just.. I’m bored. I’m ready to get back to work, at least for a few hours.” 

“I’ll stay,” Bucky volunteers. He’s not ready to go back to Steve’s apartment just yet.

“I think that’s our cue to leave, Cap,” Tony says, winking at Amelia as he says it. Steve frowns slightly, but nods.

“I’ll order in dinner, and then maybe we can watch a movie after,” he offers. “That’ll give you a couple hours to work, and then some time to rest. Bucky?” 

“Rest. Got it.” 

“Good.” 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Bucky slips back up onto the bed. Amelia curls up against his chest without a word, and he’s content to just let her lay there. With the way the door to this room feels like it’s constantly opening or closing, having this quiet moment moment here is a welcome respite from everything. He finds himself wishing that HYDRA had never found them. They could be at home, watching a movie together or sitting beside each other, her feet on his lap, as they read. He misses the way it was just them, and he wishes he knew how to get that back. 

The next time he glances down, she is sound asleep, still half on his chest, one hand resting lightly over his heart. His lips brush against the top of her head and she mumbles in her sleep before settling again. He feels the corners of his lips tug up. It’s not quite the same as it was, but for now, he’ll gladly take it. 

***

Two days later, Amelia is cleared to return to her own apartment. Her gait is a bit unsteady, and she still tires easily, but Bruce finally pronounced her well enough to leave the medical suite.

The walk to her apartment has become a small parade. Steve walks close beside her, Bucky on the opposite side, close enough to grab her if she stumbles. Tony stands behind her. Overkill, if you ask her. It’d only take one of them to rescue her from a tumble, not that she’s going to need it. 

She unlocks the door and everyone follows her in. Steve and Tony try to ease her towards the couch, but her attention turns to Bucky as he looks around, still standing just inside the door.  
She follows his gaze, trying to see the apartment from his point of view. The layout is nearly identical to Steve’s, but the decor is her own. There’s an L-shaped sectional and a full size couch in the living room, boxed around the widescreen television. Room for a crowd, even if she usually just sprawls out across the cushions to read. Beyond the couches was the door to her office. From where he was standing, Bucky would be able to see the dining area (small table with four chairs) and part of the kitchen. 

The kitchen was her favorite room in the apartment, and with good reason. It was a professional chef’s dream come true, designed with both form and function in mind. It was also designed so that she could cook for a crowd (often the case when she was in residence) or just for herself with equal ease. There was also plenty of room, and seating, for entertaining. 

There was also a baby grand piano near the seating area, just past her office wall. Another surprise from Tony when he redesigned everything after the Chautari attack. The rest of the apartment was comfortable, but pretty standard. 

Steve sets his hand on her lower back, gently coaxing her towards the couch. She gives him an annoyed glance, but follows. As soon as she is seated, she turns back towards Bucky. “Feel free to explore.” 

He nods, and starts looking around, making his way towards the kitchen.

She turns back, and settles back against the cushions. Her left arm is in a sling, and her shoulder is still bandaged up tight, but she’s finally home. 

Tony leans over, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stop by before dinner. I think Pepper is having team meal catered, if you want to join us.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Good. Get some rest.” 

She nods and he heads for the door. As soon as it closes behind him, she lets out a sigh, and leans her head back. 

“Alright?” Steve asks, leaning forward a bit to face her.

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want us to go, give you some time alone?” 

“No. You’re fine. He just…worries. It’s a lot sometimes.” 

Steve sinks back down next to her. “It’s stifling, when you just want to recover on your own.” 

She hums in agreement. 

“I probably should get going, though. Work is piling up. Paperwork, mostly.” He makes a face. “I’ll go find Bucky, and we’ll get out of your hair.” 

“He’s fine. Go work. I’ll see you at dinner?” 

“I’ll see if Bucky’s up for it. I thought maybe a quiet dinner in would be good, but if he’s game, we’ll be there. If not, stop by after. Maybe we can watch a movie or something, if you’d like.”

“That’d be really great. Thanks.” 

He gets up and starts towards the door. “If he needs anything, have Jarvis page me.” 

“Steve?” 

He pauses, turning back towards her. 

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out, raw and sharp, now that they are out into the open. His expression does something complicated and painful, and she can tell that he was hoping to leave this behind, unexamined, as well.

“Amy--” 

“No, please. Just, let me do this. I never meant to hurt you, and I hated lying to you. But I’ve gone over every minute, from the night he showed up until the day I told you, and if there was a different way to handle everything that didn’t result in him running or suffering more trauma, I can’t see it. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” 

“So, sorry, not sorry?” Emotions move across his face. Disappointment. Betrayal. And the sense that he doesn’t want to have this conversation any more than she does. Still, it has to come out between them. Left alone, it will fester and grow until it rips their friendship apart. And Amelia would do anything to keep that from happening.

She’d noticed the way that Steve wouldn’t _quite_ meet her eyes sometimes, and as much as he tried to act like everything was okay, it still felt off, and she’s sure he noticed, too.

She shakes her head, but holds her resolve.“I’m sorry for hurting you, and for the risks you and the others took.” The hardest thing in the world, as it turns out, might just be facing Steve’s disapproval. 

“But not sorry for the way things turned out.” 

She nods. “He’s here. He’s safe. You have him back. I’m not apologizing for that.” 

“It doesn’t change the fact that you could have told me. You could have trusted me to not mess things up, and you didn’t, and that’s the problem, Amy. You didn’t trust me, and the team, _your friends,_ almost died for it.” 

Amelia sucks in a breath, but doesn’t drop her gaze. “I know.” 

Neither of them notice Bucky standing just inside the hallway, listening in, until he speaks up.

“It wasn’t her fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mea Culpa.
> 
> The past two weeks have been insane. I have a third grader and a new preschooler, and all of the preparations for the first week of school took over my life for the past two weeks. Add to that the stress of returning from vacation (and going back to work), and a half dozen other stressors, and this chapter was all over the place. It was worse than the last chapter, if you can believe it. I couldn’t focus well enough to make any of it fit together. Had I posted this a week ago, you all would have been very unhappy with it. There was no emotional depth; just a bunch of words on a page. There's still not nearly as much depth as I'd like, but if I kept fighting with it, I was only going to end up even more frustrated. I need to get some rest, get through the last bit of the craziness, and then go back and fix the last two chapters. 
> 
> I leave Thursday for a business trip to New Orleans (there are times when being an adult doesn’t suck, boys and girls). Trying to figure all of that out, and now trying to figure out what I'm actually doing down there (first order of business: find decent iced coffee), is taking up a lot of time. The next chapter will probably be a little shorter, but we’re finally celebrating Steve’s birthday, and there are a couple really sweet scenes coming up. 
> 
> Also, can I just say that I am absolutely in love with the idea of Steve having one of those huge chalk walls somewhere either in his rooms or out in the hallway (or some other community area of the Tower)? It's be the perfect low-key relaxer after a rough day, and I can see the others adding their little drawings and messages, too.


	18. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Orleans was amazing. It was not, however, conducive to writing. It was hot and I did a lot of walking; by the time I got back to my room at night, I was able to blearily stare at my screen for a half hour before dropping to my pillows. Loved every minute, though. 
> 
> I have the second half of this chapter nearly ready; I'm adding a few more scenes and putting it up on Friday. So, this chapter is a bit shorter than I usually post, but it's up. Finally.
> 
> I want to say Thank You for all of the kind words after the last chapter. I cherished every one of them. 
> 
> The mistakes and Amelia are mine. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

***

_“It wasn’t her fault.”_

Amelia turns to see Bucky lurking just inside the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. He’s standing there, his expression wary, his right hand rubbing along the his left arm, like he was trying to warm it, except the motion has a frantic quality to it, and his eyes are just a bit too wide.

“Bucky?” Steve prompts, coming to his feet. Bucky flinches back, and then squares his shoulders. 

“Wasn’t her fault. The mission. I knew. I tried to tell you. I wanted to, but-- I-- I couldn’t.” 

Steve glances to Amelia, and then looks back to him. “Bucky, what happened wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky shakes his head in one sharp movement, and then his eyes lock onto Amelia’s. “I had their numbers. I tried. But I just-- I couldn’t do it. I could have warned them. He was hurt because of me.” 

“Bucky, no.” Steve takes a step forward and he flinches back again. Steve steps back, hands held out in a non-threatening gesture. 

“It was my fault,” Bucky insists. “All of it. I asked her not to tell you about me, and I- I’m the one who risked the mission. You can’t-- You can’t blame her.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t. I don’t blame either of you. Come on, it’s okay.” 

Amelia watches, torn. She wants to stop this, to protect them both from this moment. To put things back to how they were a few minutes ago. Bucky keeps looking from her to Steve and back, trying to edge towards her an inch or two at a time. To protect her, she realizes. 

“You-- You do,” Bucky says. “I heard you. Everyone could have died, and you think it was her fault. It _wasn’t._ ” He’s agitated, fingers starting to squeeze the metal arm instead of rubbing along it. 

“Bucky, I need you to take a breath for me,” Steve says, slipping on Captain America like a shield. “Let’s discuss this, okay? Can you come sit down with us?” 

Bucky shakes his head. 

“Bucky,” Amelia says softly. His gaze comes back to her. “Come here, hun. I’m okay. Steve’s upset, but he’s trying to understand. He’s trying to protect his team, just like you’re trying to protect me right now.” 

His lips seal tightly together, brow furrowed, and the misery radiating from him is a physical thing in the room, making the air almost too thick to breath. 

Steve glances over to her. “Amy…” _Help him,_ he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. Amelia nods her understanding, and takes a few small steps towards Bucky. He watches her come, but doesn’t pull away, so she keeps going, stopping just a couple feet away and holding out her hand. “It’s okay,” she says again. After a moment, he reaches out, slipping his fingers into hers. He tightens his grip, not painfully, but enough that she can tell exactly how badly he’s shaken up right now. She takes the last step forward, moving into his space and setting her head against his shoulder. He pulls her close and she can feel the tremors moving through his body. He bends his head down, setting his cheek against the side of her head. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Amelia just holds tighter. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just talk to us, Bucky. Please.” 

***

Steve watches from across the room, his heart shattered in his chest. The expression on Bucky’s face when he looked at him will haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked scared, maybe more than scared. Bucky is terrified of him, and Steve can’t imagine how badly he must be messing all of this up for that to be true. What is he doing wrong? When did this all spiral away from something he could fix?

He stands there, watching the way Bucky’s arm curls protectively around Amy’s back, the way he presses down close to her, letting her comfort and calm him, even while he protects her, his gaze defiant in the split second he dares to meet Steve’s eyes. And Steve _hates_ himself for it. Because isn’t it so easy to forget, to tell himself for just a moment or two that Bucky’s back? He’s missing his memories, but it’s the same guy he grew up with. Except, it’s not. The man standing across the room, still warily watching him, has survived hell. He’s been tortured and dehumanized and torn to pieces by the people who had stolen his mind. 

And Steve doesn’t know how to fix that. There isn’t a villain that he can face off against, coming home victorious and that’s it; the fight’s over. He doesn’t know how to fight this type of battle. Captain America means nothing here. 

He watches in silence as Amelia steps back, her hand still in Bucky’s, and leads him over to the couch, sitting diagonally from where Steve is standing. They sit pressed close together, sides touching. A united front. 

Steve drops down onto the other couch. He’s not prepared. He thought he was. From the moment he woke up in the hospital, he’s been trying to learn whatever he could about what happened to his best friend and how he could help. And, obviously, he’s failing miserably. 

“I remembered the warehouse. I knew what was there. Didn’t want you to see. You shouldn’t _have_ to,” Bucky begins in halting words. His voice is hollow, his eyes unfocused as they stare at the coffee table in front of them. His hand, Steve notices, is still holding tightly to Amelia’s. “I didn’t know that it was a trap, but I knew it was still in use. I wanted to warn you, but every time I tried, I-- I couldn’t speak. I don’t understand. There was nothing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I- I’m sorry. I never wanted you to get hurt. And-- And I told Amelia not to call you, when I showed up. She asked, first thing. I said no. I wasn’t-- I was scared. I didn’t remember, but, you-- you-- I remembered-- It _hurt._ ” 

Steve can see him shaking, his eyes watery, his face pale. His grip on Amelia’s hand, thankfully with his own hand and not the metal one, is tight enough that it has to be uncomfortable. She’s trying to awkwardly rub the fingers of her injured side along his back, leaning into him just enough that he feels her there. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe,” Amelia is saying softly, coaxing him to look at her instead of the table. And Steve? He’s frozen to his seat, unable to speak, much less move. He’s afraid that anything he does now will only make things worse. But, this is Bucky. _His_ Bucky, no matter what he’s been through or what he’s facing now. So he swallows past the emotions catching in his throat and tries to find the right words. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing here, Buck, and I’m making a lot of mistakes. I’m not mad. And it’s not your fault. Please, believe that. And,” he shifts his gaze, “it’s not Amy’s fault either. Amy, I’m so sorry.” 

She glances at him and nods in acknowledgement, or in encouragement. He’s not sure which, so he keeps going.

“Bucky, no one is upset with you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did Amelia. It’s okay.” He wants to talk to Amelia, to finish the discussion, to put this behind them, but he doesn’t dare go any further with it right now. Not while Bucky looks two seconds, or one wrong word, from a full-blown PTSD attack. 

Watching them, though, Steve thinks that maybe they’ve been through this before, judging by the way she’s interacting with him. He’s listening to her now, head cocked the at the slightest angle to show his attention. He’s still trembling. His breath is still coming out in frightened pants, but it’s slower and a bit deeper now, the air actually reaching his lungs before gushing out again. So Steve sits and waits, watching the delicate dance of expressions and touches and whispers as Amy pulls him back from whatever hell he was fighting. 

And Steve remembers the nights he called her at 1:00 AM, unable to close his eyes for the memories and nightmares that awaited him, times when he didn’t have anyone else to call. The way she’d talk him through his thoughts, listen as he shared memories that were too painful to speak out loud anytime other than the very early morning hours, when the world outside his windows was dark enough hold his secrets. The way she’d stay up with him, talking about anything and everything, until he managed to sleep, usually with the phone still tucked under one ear.

Amelia has been preparing for her role as Bucky’s friend for two years, he realizes, and she didn’t even know it. Maybe longer, if her friendship with Tony was anything to go by. God knows, that man has just as many issues as the rest of the team. 

So, here she is. And here they are. And maybe it’s not at all like he planned, but right now, Bucky is starting to relax, and settle back against the couch, Amelia’s hand in his. It’s not perfect, but it’s theirs. 

“Steve, did you want to put in a movie?” Amelia asks softly. He nods, and goes to the on screen listing. After a few moments of browsing, he settles on something lighthearted and gets it started. His eyes keep cutting back to the other couch. Amelia is tucked under Bucky’s arm, her arm wrapped around his waist as she watches the opening credits. Bucky is watching her. Steve looks back to the movie. 

They’re halfway through the movie when Steve glances over, and sees Bucky sound asleep, his head pillowed on Amelia’s lap. She’s absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair as she watches the movie. It’s looks normal and peaceful, and so intimate that Steve nearly looks away. 

“What am I doing wrong?” The words are out before he can stop them.

Amelia looks over. “Sorry?” 

“With Bucky. I’m messing this up, and I don’t know how to fix it. The way he reacted.. Amy, he was terrified.” 

“He thought that you’d send him away or lock him up.”

Steve pales. “That’s never going to happen.” 

She nods. “I know that. He doesn’t. It’s going to take time for him to trust you. Be patient. Don’t try to get him to remember. Don’t push, not yet. He lets me close because we’ve had a few months to get used to each other. None of this has been easy. We’re just patient with each other. Give him space, and give him time. Just wait him out, and be there when he needs you to be.” 

Steve nods, so she continues. “The fact that he’s able to rest like this with you in the room, it’s a good sign, Steve. Instinctively, he trusts you. It’s just taking the rest of him some time to catch on.” 

His gaze falls back to Bucky. He has one hand resting gently on her knee, the other curled in front of him. Amelia’s fingers are still working through his hair. “How bad was it?” Amelia hesitates, so he presses forward. “I need to know, Amy. Please.” 

She still looks hesitant, but after a moment, agrees. “He had a bad day a week or so after he arrived. Someone knocked on the door, and he thought they were HYDRA. He came down the stairs, armed to the teeth, ready to protect me. It’s was Mrs. Bridgers from next door, and when that hit him, that he could have hurt her, it was bad. He expected me to punish him. God, Steve, he knelt on the kitchen floor, head bowed, waiting for it.” 

Bucky sleeps on through this, giving no hint to the horrors he’s survived outside of the dark circles beneath his eyes, telling the tale of too many sleepless nights. Steve wants to punch someone, make someone pay for all of the terrible things done to his best friend. He wants to swear his protection, to never let anything bad touch Bucky again.

He wants to be sick, too; can feel the bile churning in his stomach. He pushes aside that impulse, swallows hard, and fights to speak. 

“You never said.” 

“It wasn’t my place to do so, but you’re right. You need to know. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to save him. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Steve let out a slow breath. “I was scared. I still am. If anything had happened to me, I didn’t know if he’d be okay, Amy. I didn’t know if anyone else was going to find him, or if he was going to be left alone until HYDRA took him back in, or if he’d even survive out there on his own. And if it had been anyone else in that blast, any other member of the team, they wouldn’t have survived. I thought, if you could have prevented it…” Amelia opens her mouth to speak, but he shakes his head, silencing her. “I was wrong.” He moves to sit over beside her on the arm of the couch, one arm slipping easily around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

She nods, and rests her head against his side. “I know. We’ll figure this out, alright? The three of us. He’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay, too.” 

Steve squeezes her shoulder. “Thank you. I have to get to that paperwork, and you need rest. Are you okay here? Is there anything you need?” 

She gives him a smile, and tries to hide a little yawn. “I’m good. Thanks, though.” 

“Alright. I’ll come back in a few hours. Get some rest.” He drops a kiss on her forehead and rubs a hand along her shoulders as he stands. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the office.” 

She laughs softly at the face he makes, and he gives her a wobbly smile before heading out, thoughts still racing from their conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was sit in front of a computer screen, filling out forms and trying to rationalize the team’s involvement in the hostage situation the week before, but with the city breathing down Agent Hill’s neck, and Hill breathing down his, he had little choice in the matter. 

No good deed went undocumented. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sam stops by for breakfast.


	19. Take Me Out to the Ballgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late. I'm blaming Tony, Sam and Bucky; you can read why in the end note. Sorry, though. It was going to be up on time, but the boys decided to get creative.
> 
> The next chapter is partially written, and short of more last minute creative input from our favorite super heroes, it'll be up next Friday. Thank you again for all of the lovely comments, the kudos, the subscriptions, and the bookmarks. Thank you for taking the time to read. You're all amazing, and I am so grateful for each and every one of you. 
> 
> I own Amelia and my mistakes. The rest belongs to Marvel.

_**The Next Morning**_

Bucky waits in his own room, alternating between reading and staring at the walls, until 5:45 AM. By 6:00, he’s showered, dressed, and slipping across the hallway towards Amelia’s apartment. Her door opens at his approach, but he chalks it up to another weird quirk of the Tower. Maybe there was an advanced biometric scanner somewhere. 

She’s still asleep, the blankets kicked halfway off the bed and her pillows tossed and tucked every which way. She didn’t sleep well either, then, he notes. Bucky spreads the blankets back over her and heads back out to the living room. It’ll be a while before she’s up yet. 

He’d ended up going to the group dinner the night before, if for no other reason than he wasn’t ready to deal with Steve one-on-one after the spectacular way he’d made an idiot of himself earlier in the afternoon, having a breakdown and then falling asleep on Amelia’s lap right after. Watching the team interact, the little jokes, petty arguments that sounded old and rehearsed, like something they’d gone over time and time again, and the comfortable way they sat and ate together felt familiar. He met Natasha, who looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place, and learned that Thor was off-world, dealing with an issue on Asgard that required his immediate attention. 

The camaraderie felt familiar, even if he wasn’t really a part of it. They tried, though, he’d give them that, directing comments and questions his way, only for him to mostly ignore them. 

At 7:30, Bucky starts breakfast. He’s in the middle of cracking eggs into a bowl when he hears Amelia’s front door open and soft footsteps start towards the kitchen. He doesn’t recognize the sound of the feet along the carpet, so he stills, tensing, until a voice calls out.

“Hey, Amy. It’s Sam. Jarvis just let me in,” comes the voice of an unknown male. It’s familiar, though, and Bucky recognizes his name. 

“She’s sleeping,” he replies gruffly. “Who’s Jarvis?” 

Sam stops just inside the kitchen, eyes widening for a second before he shrugs it off, pastes on a lopsided smile, and nods in greeting. 

“Hey, man. Sorry to barge in on you like that. I’m Sam Wilson.” The man takes a few steps forward and holds out his hand. Bucky warily shakes it. Right. This is the one with the wings. He’s not wearing them now, though, just a black backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Bucky.” 

“Yeah, we all know who you are. Settling in okay?” 

“Fine.” 

Sam glances sideways at him. “Glad to hear it. This place is a little wild, when you’re first getting used to it. Heck, I’m still not used to it, and I’ve been around for a few months.” 

Bucky ignores him, and goes to grab the flour and sugar from the cupboards.

“Is Steve up yet?” 

“Don’t know. Wasn’t when I left.” He starts measuring things out. 

“Right, well, I’m going to go find him, then. Why don’t you and Amelia come on over once you’re done eating breakfast, alright? Take whatever time you need.” 

Bucky nods. Sam gives a tiny smile and makes his way back out of the apartment. 

***

On the other side of the hall, Steve is also making breakfast. Sam walks in and follows the sound of the music playing in the kitchen. 

“Morning,” Sam says, setting his bag down just inside the kitchen. “Bucky’s over across the hall, making pancakes, if you were missing him.” 

“Jarvis told me. You met him, then?” 

“Yeah, I went in looking for Amelia, figured we’d give you two a chance to get up and around before we went over. Bit surprised to find him already there.” 

“I’m not. I heard him slip out before six. I don’t even know if he slept last night. How was he?” 

“Fine. You know, after the helicarriers and everything I’ve read about the guy, I never would have guessed that the next time I saw him, it’d be so domestic. How are you doing with all of this?” 

“Poorly. We hit a rough spot yesterday. My fault. It feels like the harder I try to do what’s right for everyone, the more I’m messing things up.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s no blueprint for something like this. Do the best that you can. Be there when he needs you. Find out how you can best support him. Make sure that he’s sleeping enough. Let him know that you have his back.” He shrugs and comes around towards the stove. “Now, what are you making for breakfast? I came straight here from the airport, and I’m starving.” 

***

It’s going on 9:30 before Amelia and Bucky make their way across the hall. He comes in first, scanning the room before he moves forward enough to let Amelia enter. Sam notices, but he it’s a behavior he sees every day at work, so he doesn’t think twice about it. The man definitely looks more at ease than he looked a couple hours ago. That, Sam does take note of. Amelia seems content enough to let him take the lead and protect her, but Sam notices the way she brushes her fingers against his arm as they walk further into the apartment. 

Steve, on the other hand, looks tense. Bucky shrinks into himself a bit when his eyes land on him. 

“Morning, Amy. How’s the shoulder?” Sam asks, breaking the ice. 

“Better. And I’m glad to be in my own space again. Not loving the sling, though.”

Sam can work with that. “I know how that goes. I broke my arm when I was twelve, jumping on the neighbor's trampoline. Longest summer of my life. My friends were all going to a sports camp the next week, and I had to stay behind and spend the week with my grandparents. Which, you know, not horrible, but it sure wasn’t camp, either.” 

“That’s-- I am so sorry. I guess that’s the good thing about being an adult. I’m not missing out on any great adventures in the next couple of weeks. I’m sidelined for yoga for the next month, though.” 

“You do yoga?” Sam asks, sitting down on the couch. He leaves the loveseat open; it’s the best place to see the rest of the apartment. Amelia must have the same thought, because she discreetly touches Bucky’s arm again, and they sit down there, scarcely two inches between them. Sam thinks they’re mutually protecting each other, but the way they communicate without speaking, it’s hard to say. She’s picking up on his tiniest expressions, responding with barely noticeable touches. 

Sam’s aware that he and Amy carrying the whole conversation, but as Steve and Bucky are still busily avoiding eye contact, he doesn’t see where they have a lot of choice. “I’ve always thought I might give it a try.” 

“Tony has an instructor in here every morning at 6:00 for an hour long session. Two hours on Sundays, and they don’t start until eight. You should give it a try.” 

“Yeah, I might do that. Thanks. So, all three of you back together again here. Anything special planned to celebrate?” he asks, because seriously, the silence between the two men is starting to border on weird. 

Bucky looks away, and Steve kind of shrugs. “I don’t know. We could do something, though. Umm...bowling?” 

Sam makes a face. “Nah, man, you’ve gotta do better than that. Bucky, help the guy out.” 

Bucky glances up. “Before, umm. Before everything, we used to go to games. Baseball games. When the Dodgers were playing at Ebbets.” 

Steve makes a wounded sound. “You didn’t tell him?” 

Bucky scowls. “She told me. Traitors, all of ‘em.” 

Steve nods in agreeance, and Sam catches Amy’s amused smile. “That settles it then.” He pulls out his phone, swipes around for a moment, and then holds the screen up. “There’s a game on Saturday. How many tickets do you need?” 

Steve starts to answer but Amelia cuts in. “We don’t need tickets,” she says with a grin. “Tony has a game suite.” 

Steve’s eyes light up. “This whole time, we’ve been getting the regular seats, and--” 

“I tried to tell you! You said that the seats, crappy hot dogs and all, were part of the experience.”

“You mean like, one of the luxury suites?” Sam asks. “Damn. Count me in.” 

“You don’t like baseball,” Steve points out. 

“I’ve heard stories about these boxes. I could learn to like baseball, if it came with a personal chef and a high-end open bar.” 

“Are you okay with this?” Amelia softly asks Bucky, who is still sitting close beside her. 

He shrugs. “Beats trying to handle the crowd.” 

She bumps against his shoulder a bit. “You know the whole team’s getting an invite. You might change your mind and decide the crowd would have been a safer bet.” 

Bucky glances over to Steve, watching the animated way he’s telling Sam some story from their youth. It’s the most at ease he’s seen him since they all came home from the hospital. “I’ll be alright,” he promises. If going to a game makes Steve light up like that, well, he figures that there’s a lot he’s willing to handle. 

_**Three Days Later (Very Early Saturday Morning)**_

The clock reads 2:27, numbers glowing red in the darkness of his bedroom. Across the hall, Steve snores softly in his sleep, probably rolled over onto his back, both arms flung above his head. It’s how he used to sleep, when he was in the army. Before that, he slept curled up in a ball, his tiny body desperately trying to conserve heat. He remembers that, now. He remembers a lot of things.

Bucky grabs a glass of water, and then wanders out of the apartment and down the hall, coming to the small sitting area, with the windows overlooking the city. There’s a clock on the wall, seconds ticking by slowly as cars rush around hundreds of feet below him, even in the middle of the night. 

It’s late. He should be sleeping. But his memories are starting to return at a startling speed, and he is afraid to close his eyes. The sins of the Soldier feel a lot like his sins regardless of what everyone tells him. The things that the Soldier had been asked to do were unthinkable, and he was tired of reliving them every time he closed his eyes. 

Bucky can feel the walls of the Tower closing in, and he presses his hands against the cold glass to try to center himself. He hears a door open down the hallway, and hears soft footfalls walking in his direction. Amelia. He recognizes the sound of her gait. 

“Bucky, hey. What are you doing up?” 

“Could ask you the same, doll,” he replies, turning to face her.

Amelia shrugs and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I got caught in a book, and time slipped away. I just thought I’d see if there was any leftover pizza left in the community kitchen downstairs. Can I grab you anything?”

He shakes his head, and turns back to the windows. He hears her walking up behind him, and has to quell the part of him that is trying to analyze the threat. 

She stops beside him, and he can see both of their reflections in the glass. Her arm slips around his waist, and she sets her head against his shoulder. He wraps his flesh-and-bone arm around her shoulders, pressing her against his side. Her touch soothes him, and he felt the panic start to subside. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, looking up at him. 

“Rough night,” he replies, simply. Doesn’t come close to the truth. One rough night was actually several. The room in Steve’s apartment (he still can’t think of it as his) is nice, but it gives him too much time in with his thoughts. He can’t sleep. 

And Steve’s trying. It’s just… He knows Steve would keep him company, no matter how late it was, but he still can’t bring himself to take the short walk across the hallway. Steve knows that he’s not sleeping--Bucky’s caught several concerned looks over the past few days--but he’s not going to push it. He won’t ask; too afraid of breaking their already fragile relationship. 

So, Bucky sits in bed, messing around with the new tablet, or reading, or staring at the walls. Sometimes he dozes off, his body desperate for rest, only to wake again an hour later, breath stuttering in and out as he chokes back sobs or screams or both, and then he waits until it’s time to go across the hallway to Amelia’s for breakfast. He can’t keep this up. He’s slipping again. Another night, another setback, and he just wants this to be over with already.

Amelia turns into him, her left arm resting in the sling between them as she hugs him as best she can. He draws his metal arm around her, staring at their image in the window. The weapon holding a beautiful woman. It looks wrong. He closes his eyes, forcing away the sight, and sets his cheek against the top of her head. He breaths in the smell of her shampoo, and concentrates on the feeling of her warmth spreading through his icy body. It’s always like that when the Soldier is pressing for dominance. Being cold for 70 years will do that to you. Nights like this, he can’t get warm enough. 

“Come back in with me. My bed is more than big enough for two, and it might help to not be alone.” 

He takes one last look into the window, meeting his own gaze in the glass before letting her lead him back down the hallway and into her apartment. She opens the door to her bedroom, and moves to her half of the bed, leaving him the side that allows him to best detect and protect her from any threats. There are no books on the nightstand, he notices. She’s not sleeping, either, then. He slips in beside her without a word, her back pressed against his chest and her head resting on his arm. He rests his metal arm awkwardly on his hip until she reaches up with her good side and tugs it down around her, wrapping it around her stomach. She nestles back against him. 

“I’ve missed this,” she whispers. He can hear the emotion in her voice, feels the way she huddles against him. He just holds a little tighter, listening to her breaths until they even out. It doesn’t take long before he joins her in her slumber.

He wakes up with Amelia still in his arms. Sunlight shines softly through the blinds. He glances at the clock, surprised to see it read well after dawn. At some point during the night, they changed positions, now facing each other, legs tangled together. She shifts and stretches a bit, and then blinks her eyes open, a small smile flitting across her face when she sees him.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. Want me to start breakfast?”

She snuggles up to him. “Not yet. Can we stay like this for a little bit?” 

“Yeah, doll. Sounds good.” He pulls her a bit closer, and presses his face into her hair, breathing in her sleep-soft scent, and noting the way that she smells a little bit like him. There’s a strange flutter in his chest at the realization. Something territorial waking up; something that exists in the juxtaposition somewhere between the man he thinks he used to be, the Soldier, and the man he’s trying to become. It’s primal and deep and confusing as hell. 

But he kinda likes it. 

It’s the day of the baseball game. Despite the fact that most of the team doesn’t watch baseball, they’ve all agreed to come. Steve is the most excited of any of them, and has spent the last three days recounting stories of the games they used to go to. Bucky’s surprised himself by remembering a few of them. He’s even added in a detail or two, when Steve forgot something essential. Each time, Steve smiles at him like it’s 1942 again, and Bucky can’t help the way his own lips twitch up a bit in response. Things are still strained, and Steve is still trying too hard, and Bucky knows that he’s doing the same, trying to be what Steve remembers, but he can’t seem to help it. If Steve is smiling, then things are okay. They are. Or, at least, they're getting better. And Bucky needs that reassurance. 

Amelia eventually rolls back onto her back with a soft groan. “We should probably start moving. We’re all meeting up in the community room just after lunch. What time is it?” She pushes up on her elbows, and stares blearily at the clock. “Going on 11:00. How the heck? Come on. We need to get going.” She rolls out of bed, almost graceful until she stumbles a bit when her feet hit the floor. She recovers and turns back. “Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll make breakfast for a change?” 

He peers at her from under the covers, considering, before he nods. “Yeah.” Bucky pulls himself from under the covers, and starts his way across the hall, back to Steve’s apartment. Steve, who definitely knew by now that Bucky didn’t sleep in his own room last night. But he did sleep, for the first time since the afternoon on Amelia’s couch. And he noticed that she looked a lot more rested this morning, too. 

Steve is still sitting at the table, newspaper splayed out in front of him. He glances up when Bucky walks in. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” he grumbles, waving briefly as he makes his way towards his room, all while pointedly ignoring the curious stare aimed his way. It takes fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and throw on some clean clothes. Amelia is waiting with omelets and sausage. She’s still in her PJs: long flannel pants and an Iron Man t-shirt, thick fuzzy slippers covering her feet. He carries their plates out to the table, setting their plates across from each other, and then pulls her chair out before she sits down. 

“Smells good,” he says, taking his own seat. There are already two glasses of orange juice sitting on the table. He glances around the room as he takes his first bite, eyes landing on the baby grand. 

“Any chance of you playing for me sometime?” 

She turns, follows his gaze, shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I haven’t touched it in months, so I’m not making promises, but yeah. So, are you ready for this afternoon?” 

Bucky nods a bit hesitantly. “I think so. I mean, you’ll be there. And Steve.” 

“Yeah, we’ll be there.” She gives him a reassuring smile, and he echoes it back. He’s still a bit anxious--this’ll be his first time out in public (hospital aside) since his escape--but he has allies at his side, and they’ll be shielded from most of the crowds. He can do this. 

Still, it helps when Amelia reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before going back to her meal.

***

The field manager personally escorts them to the game suite, a full hour before the game is set to begin. There are already appetizers laid out along a buffet table and a bartender in place. The suite is larger than Amelia had expected; it never looked nearly this big from the outside, when Steve would drag her out to the occasional game. She doesn’t think Tony’s used the suite in years. 

The whole team is present, minus Thor, but Pepper, Sam, and Rhodey are all present. Everyone met at the Tower right after lunch and Tony hired a limo for the ride over. Bucky hadn’t much left her side since they all began to gather on the lower levels, but at the moment, he’s busy talking with Steve, so she slips across the room to stare down at the field, where the Yankees are already warming up. 

“Didn’t realize you liked baseball,” Rhodey comments, coming up to stand beside her. 

She shrugs. “I don’t hate it, if that counts. I just come along for the others.” 

“For Steve and Bucky, you mean.” 

She shrugs again. “So, we haven’t seen much of you lately. Anything exciting going on down in DC?” 

“Same old, same old. Nothing ever changes in Washington. They’re threatening to give me another paint job.”  
“Still the Iron Patriot.” 

“It’s a friendly name.” 

“You hate it.” 

“I hate it.” He gives her a rueful smile. “Should have gone private sector. They get the good codenames.” 

“Not too late to make the switch,” Tony says, walking up beside them. “You know we always have room at the Tower for one more.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. One of us has to be in the position to clean up your messes.” 

“Which I am endlessly grateful for,” Tony says, patting the other man on the shoulder. “So grateful, in fact, that I’m going to get you a drink.” Rhodey rolls his eyes, but lets Tony direct him towards the bar. Amelia shakes her head, and turns her gaze back out the window. 

A few minutes later, there’s a drink sliding over in front of her. “Hell of a view. Don’t know if it’ll have the same feel as the cheap seats, though,” Bucky comments, stepping into place beside her. 

“No, I’d hope not. Steve tried that once. He doesn’t fit in them anymore, at least, not comfortably. They weren’t designed for long legs.” 

He gives her an almost bitter smile. “Not sure I’d be able to handle the crowd out there. I seem to remember things were always a bit rowdier the higher up the bleachers we went.” 

Steve laughs from somewhere behind them, and they both turn to look. He has one hand clasped to Sam’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. Amelia glances up at Bucky, seeing the way he gazes at his friend. 

“I haven’t heard him laugh like that in a really long time,” she says. “You gave that back to him. This was a really good idea, Bucky. Thank you.” 

He shrugs. “Didn’t do much, doll. This was always his favorite thing, though. This, and his art.” 

She hums under her breath. “Speaking of, have you had a chance to replace any of your supplies? We can order some, if you’d like. I think Steve mostly just uses pencil, so if you want anything else, we’ll have to get it. Actually, Steve has an art store he likes downtown, so that’s an option, too.” 

Bucky tilts his head a bit. “Let’s get through this first.”

She set her hand over his, and he turned his hand around to better entwine their fingers. “Let me know if you need a break, alright?” 

He nods. “Thanks.”

It’s only another minute before Sam and Steve wander over to join them. Shortly after, their meal is served, and drinks as passed around. And then the game starts. They all start sitting down, Steve between Bucky and Sam, and Bucky beside Amelia. Tony, Pepper, Natasha, and Bruce are hanging out near the bar. Rhodey is next to Sam, and Clint is on Amelia’s opposite side, bag of popcorn in hand. He laughs at her questioning glance. 

“You have any idea how long I’ve waited for this type of entertainment? We have three different pools going. You want in?” 

Amelia rolls her eyes, and grabs a handful of popcorn, ignoring his protests. 

The game starts to get intense about twenty minutes in, when one of the umpires makes what Bucky assures her is an awful call. Steve enthusiastically agrees. Another twenty minutes after that, they’re both standing at the window, shouting down at the players on the field below. Sam glances over, and just grins. She can’t help but return it. This is the most animated she’s seen either of the two men in a while. All of the strain between them completely forgotten as they team up against a common enemy, in this case, the umpire. And it’s such a stark contrast from the sullen looks and strained silence that they’ve caught the attention of the whole team, everyone watching in shocked silence.

It takes a few minutes for the two time-lost soldiers to pick up on the silence, and they turn as one, staring at the rest of the team. Steve looks abashed for about half a second, red creeping up his neck, before he gives them all a self-effacing smile and shrugs. “Ya gotta admit; that was a terrible move on the Cubs’ part.” 

Everyone just stares blankly. 

“I thought it was a pretty good catch,” Sam ventures. 

“You can’t root for the Yankees,” Bucky protests. “And do any of you even watch baseball?” 

There’s no answer, and Amelia has to bite the inside of her mouth to hide her smile when Bucky dramatically groans. 

“Stevie, these new friends of yours…” 

“Nobody’s perfect, Buck.” 

“Yeah, but baseball? That’s as American as you can get. Who doesn’t like baseball?” 

At the lack of response from the rest of the team, Bucky shakes his head, and turns back to the game. Steve catches Amelia’s gaze, and she gives him a thumbs up. He grins widely, and returns to insulting the Yankees. 

Amelia gets up to grab a couple drinks, and then sits back down beside Sam, handing one over to him. “You are brilliant, and I love you. Seriously. I don’t know what sort of therapist magic you were working there the other morning, but I could kiss you for it.” At his raised eyebrow she continues. “I _won’t,_ but I could.” 

“Thank you, I think. Sometimes, people just need a bit of a nudge in the right direction. You know this isn’t going to solve things, right? It’s a start, and it’s a great one, but eventually, they’re going to have to hash out whatever it is that’s still standing between them.” 

“Well, I’d take any step in the right direction. It’s been a tense couple of weeks.” 

Sam nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen that.” 

Bucky turns around, his gaze seeking her out. Sam tilts his head in understanding, and she gets up, moving over to stand at Bucky’s side. He sets his arm over her shoulders, tucking her into the space beside him. 

“Stevie here just volunteered to go get us some hot dogs. You want anything else?” 

“I’m good, but thank you.” 

Bucky considers. “Do they still have peanuts? Maybe get some of those, too.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll see what I can do.” He’s just getting ready to go when Bucky’s attention swings back to the big screen. 

“Well, that’s new.” 

Steve followed his gaze. “Oh, the kiss cam? Yeah. They definitely didn’t have that in our time. It’s sort of sweet, though.” 

“Uh, huh.” Bucky is still watching the screen. “In public, though?” 

“It’s normal. Relax. I’ll be right back.” 

Amelia turns back to the game, and seconds later, feels Bucky tense beside her. 

Clint cheers somewhere behind them, and she glances up. Bucky’s gaze is back on the screen. She looks out, and sees the two of them staring back from the huge screen. She almost laughs; between her and Bucky, she’s not sure which of them looks more startled. 

“Steve!” Tony calls, the glee evident in his voice. 

Steve turns back, and catches on to what’s going on. “Bucky, you don’t have to kiss her. Just wait a moment, and they’ll go on to someone else.” 

“Uh, no. Not how it works, Rogers,” Tony says, a hint of apology in his voice. “I might have a prestanding arrangement with the camera guys. Not for you two, but when you’re trying to make a move, the kiss cam is a good way to do it.” 

“Tony, that’s disgusting,” Pepper protests. Tony, for his part, does look a little ashamed. 

Amelia glances up at Bucky. “Tony, call it off.” 

“Dude, just kiss her,” Clint insists. “A quick peck on the cheek or something.” 

Bucky looks down, meeting her gaze as he places his hands on her hips. “Okay?” he asks with some hesitation. She nods, and he leans down, eyes drifting shut as he brushes his lips across hers. The contact lasts barely a second, but it feels like fire and velvet against her skin. Amelia sways into him a bit, blinking up at him as he pulls back, re-establishing eye contact. His fingers are gripping a bit tighter on her hips, and she forgets that the rest of the team is there until they break into whoops and applause. Bucky flushes red, and he releases her hips as he steps away. 

“Rogers, weren’t you saying something about hot dogs?” he calls out, finally quieting the team. Steve shakes his head, but heads out the door, Clint going with him to help carry. Amelia glances over to Tony, who’s watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. She looks away, turning her attention back to the game as she tries to gather her racing thoughts. 

What the hell was that? It wasn’t at all the way the afternoon was supposed to go, but it was...nice. More than nice. Pretty freakin’ great, actually. 

She steals a glance at Bucky, and he looks just as dazed as she feels, but when she slides a few inches closer, he slips her arm back over her shoulders, and they go back to the game, just like nothing happened. She knows it’s going to be a very long time before she can get the kiss out of her mind. 

God, she’s going to _kill_ Tony. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened. 
> 
> So, as I sat editing yesterday evening, I got to the scene where Sam and Amelia are awkwardly trying to talk while Steve and Bucky ignore each other. The scene was meant to stop halfway through, but Sam protested, saying that I just _couldn't_ leave things like they were between our two favorite soldiers. How was I going to fix it? At which point I reminded him that the mess was more his area than mine. Baseball really was Bucky's idea, though, bless him, because I had no idea where I was actually going with the scene. And then Tony had to go and try to be helpful, too. This is late because I lost control of my characters, but with the way things turned out? I gotta be honest; I don't mind at all. I don't figure too many of you will mind, either. Right? ;) 
> 
> Next time: The team all gets together to celebrate Steve's birthday.


	20. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here. Still writing. Work is super busy right now. Also, I spent three days struggling with the scene that immediately follows this chapter (the bridge between where this ends and--sorry--the birthday party). I'll have that, and the party, up ASAP. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, subscriptions...and for just reading. We passed some huge milestones with the last chapter-- The 200th comment (Thanks, Scarletxraine!), 50+ bookmarks, and 5000+ hits. We're also only one shy of 300 kudos. Any takers? :D 
> 
> And if I haven't responded to your comment yet, I'm so sorry. If I don't tonight, I will tomorrow. 
> 
> As always, I own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

_What the hell did he think he was doing?_

Sure. Just kiss the girl. Maybe do it in front of her friends, in front of the whole damn stadium, like he’s some normal guy just out enjoying the game with his gal. Maybe, while he was at it, he could pretend that he was someone who got to kiss beautiful women, too; like he wasn’t some barely-functioning, ex-assassin amnesiac. Like she wasn’t someone who deserved better. 

Like stepping away from her, like not pressing deeper into the kiss, wasn’t the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

And what made it worse was that he could tell that, if he had, if he’d pulled her closer, angled her head just so, and lingered just a little bit longer, she would have let him. Maybe she even would've wrapped one hand up over his shoulder and into his hair, tangling into the strands at the back of his neck, nails lightly scraping along the sensitive skin there. 

He has to fight back the tremor that threatens at the thought.

Amelia stands beside him, his arm casually draped over her shoulder. Nothing but friends, the position says. Nothing’s changed. The kiss meant nothing.

Nothing to see here, folks. 

Meanwhile, his heart is pounding in his chest. The kiss meant nothing? Sure. And he’d spent the last 70 years dressed in red, delivering presents to good girls and boys on Christmas eve. That kiss meant everything. And that’s what scares him. He has no right thinking about kissing Amelia. No right thinking about how good it felt to brush his lips against hers, or about how she fit against the side of his body, as she was now, like she was built just for him. Or the way he couldn’t sleep without her in his arms. 

Christ. Way to go, Barnes. Just had to kiss her, didn’t he? And now, where was he supposed to go from here? 

***

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_ … He messed up. More than messed up. Not only was Pepper giving him a look that promised a very uncomfortable talk as soon as they were alone (and, yes, fine, using the kiss cam to score with women was a crappy thing to do), but he might have underestimated the thing between Amy and Barnes. Because, alright, he teased and cheered along with the others, and the look on their faces, with the camera pointed in their direction? Priceless. 

The look on Amy’s face as Barnes stepped back, after a kiss that should have been underwhelming at best? 

_Shit._

‘Don’t fall in love with him,’ Tony had warned. Don’t let him destroy you. Don’t let him tear apart every hard-won inch of progress. And he could see on her face that all of his warnings did absolutely nothing. Because there was no misinterpreting the way she looked at Frosty the Soldier. That was the look of a woman in love, whether either of them realized it yet or not. And the fact that Barnes looked just as in love, even if he also looked confused and a bit terrified (although, really, what man didn’t look a bit terrified when he was falling in love?), didn’t help at all. Actually, it was worse. So much worse. Because the love of a broken man left nothing but broken things in its path. 

And, _dammit_ , but he’d wanted better than that for her. 

And, you know, it’s not that Barnes isn’t a nice guy. Maybe, once, 70 years ago, he’d even been charming, even if the biographies always painted him as a bit of a ladies’ man. Going out with a new woman every weekend, even if it was the way of things back then, seems to have been broken out of him. And Tony knows that the ex-soldier cares for Amy. That’s not the problem. The problem is that there’s still a whole lot of crazy in the man’s life. Steve and Pepper are still working furiously to keep him from getting called to stand trial for his crimes. He hasn’t even been reinstated as a real person yet; officially, he died in 1944. End. Of. 

So, he has no business falling in love with Tony’s best friend. No business doing anything that might hurt Amy in the end, not after all she’d done for him. But how else could it possibly end? Amy moved back into the Tower for Bucky, and he could already see the first hints of strain around her eyes, could see the signs of the sleepless nights she was trying so hard to hide from the others. How long until she broke? 

Tony swallows back the terror and helplessness that thought brings. No. Not under his watch. He’d talk to her. He’d watch and wait. Maybe this was good. Maybe Amy could be happy with Barnes. But until he knows for sure, he’s going to do everything possible to minimize the damage. 

***

By the time Steve returns to the suite, arms laden with hot dogs, peanuts, and pretzels, everything looks back to normal. If it wasn’t for the slightly stiff way Bucky is holding himself at Amy’s side, you almost couldn’t tell that anything had happened. So, they were all going to ignore it. Alright. 

He’d talk to Sam later, though. Just to be on the safe side. 

The hot dogs are gone in less than ten minutes. The game ends an hour later, and they are on their way back to the Tower. Amelia goes back to her apartment, and Bucky follows Steve back to his. Sam is off with Tony, discussing a couple upgrades to his wing pack. And Bucky, who hasn’t said more than two words since asking about the hot dogs, throws himself down onto the couch and grabs his book from the side table. Steve watches from the corner of his eyes as Bucky moves his eyes from the top of the page to the bottom, and then back again. Down and back. The page doesn’t turn, even if Bucky’s eyes keep tracing over the words. Eventually, he stops doing even that, just staring blankly at the page. Steve gives it another minute, and then he wanders over. 

“Want to talk about it?” he offers. 

“Nope.” 

Alright. Fair enough. “Want me to show you the gym?” Because how many times has Steve worked out his own issues with a punching bag in front of him? 

At that, Bucky looks up. “Lead the way.” 

They start with the punching bags. Steve holds the bag in place while Bucky swings at it, using only his right arm. Until he forgets, and Steve has to jump out of the way as his left arm goes through the bag, scattering sand across the gym floor. 

“Sorry.” He doesn't look sorry. He looks annoyed.

“Don’t worry about it. The material is enforced, but maybe Tony can upgrade them again,” Steve says, as he goes to find a couple of brooms. “We can move on to something else.” 

Bucky looks around the gym, and then his gaze shifts back to Steve. He walks over, takes one of the brooms, and starts sweeping. Steve watches for a moment before starting to push the broom along the mats. 

“Some game, huh?” 

Bucky just shrugs. “Yankees lost, at least.” 

“Yeah. Umm, you and Amelia, though--” 

“There isn’t-- We aren’t.” 

Uh-huh. “Do you want to be?” 

Bucky’s gaze snaps to him, eyes wide, before he masks his expression with a blank look. A half second later, it morphs into the familiar almost-smirk her remembers from their youth, except it feels more like a mask than something genuine. “We here to gossip, Rogers? Because I thought you were promising me a workout.” 

Steve bites back a sigh. “Right. You up to sparring?” 

Bucky smirks, and this time the expression fits. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

***

Sam finishes up with Tony and heads back down to Steve’s apartment. Finding it empty, he moves across the hall and knocks on Amelia’s door. She opens it, an easy smile in place, and steps back to let him in. 

“Hey, Amy. Are Bucky and Steve over here?” 

“Nope, just me. Jarvis could probably--” 

“No need,” he cuts in. “I wanted to talk to you anyhow.” 

Amy snorts. “Are we going to need wine for this? Because, I’ve gotta be honest, Sam, a post-kiss therapy session wasn’t exactly on my to-do list for the afternoon. Or, you know, ever.” 

Sam shrugs. “I get that. Not why I’m here.” Totally was. “You doing alright with it, though? I mean, I’ve seen a few first kisses in my time, but that was kind of hot.” He pauses. “That was the first one, right?” 

“Yes. And I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Not saying you shouldn’t be. But things between you and Barnes, that’s gotta be complicated. I mean--” 

She’s quick to jump in. “There’s nothing between Bucky and I. We’re friends. The kiss was…” She trails off, finally shrugging instead of finishing the thought. 

“Yeah. That’s about what I thought. You know, you can talk to me, Amy. As a friend, even, if you’d like.” 

She’s silent a moment, considering his offer, before she shakes her head and gestures towards the couches. They sit down on either side of the sectional, and he patiently waits for her to begin. 

It doesn’t take long. 

“He’s not ready.” 

“No, probably not.” 

“ _I’m_ not ready. I have no business getting into a relationship. I don’t _want_ to be in a relationship. I’m not good with… with any of it.” 

Sam studies her a moment, taking in the way she’s twisting her hands in her lap. “Okay, so you’re not ready. He’s not ready. Just chalk it up to Tony being a schmuck, and move on. It meant nothing, right?” 

He sees the sharp protest in her eyes, even if she doesn’t say it. “I’m going to strangle Tony.”

“As a trained therapist, I do have to advise against that. Legal precautions, and all. As your friend, at least wait until he fixes the sticky gear in my wings.” 

“Deal.” 

“Seriously, though. Do you like him?” 

“Tony? Not at the moment.” 

“Playing dumb doesn’t work with me.” 

“Maybe? I don’t know. It’s complicated. Like you said, I don’t think he’s ready. And our relationship, friendship, whatever, has never been easy to define. We didn’t exactly start out with small talk. Am I overthinking this? I am, aren’t I?” 

Sam laughs. “You’re fine. Seriously, this is a very normal reaction. Relationships are tricky, especially in the beginning. And whether you’re both interested in being together or not, you’ve gotta admit, you do have a very intense friendship. I mean, I have some great friends, but none of them slip into my apartment every morning to make me breakfast. And I’m not sleeping, even platonically, with any of them.” 

She shrugs. “Helps with the nightmares.” 

“I get that. Look, I don’t have any good advice here. Believe it or not, this isn’t something that comes up very often down at the VA. At least, not in my sessions. Talk to him. If this is something you both want, then go for it. If either of you decides you don’t want this, or you’re not ready, go with that. And you know I’m almost always free if you want to talk.” 

“I know. Thank you. So,” she says, stretching out her legs a bit, “if you didn’t come here for this, what did you stop by for?” 

*** 

Steve tries again, unsuccessfully, to toss Bucky off of his waist. The other man sits straddled over him, holding Steve’s two hands in a metal grip. This makes two for two, evening the score between them, but he gets the feeling Bucky is holding back. 

Given the way his ribs ache, that might not be a bad thing. 

Bucky rolls free, easily coming to his feet, preparing for the next round. Steve stands, and gives a rueful smile. “One last time, loser makes dinner?” 

“Amelia is grilling chicken and I’m making biscuits and asparagus. Win this round, and we might invite you.”

Steve steps in, preparing to make his first move. Bucky sidesteps it easily, swinging around and knocking Steve’s feet out from beneath him. Steve twists mid-air, kicking Bucky in the chest, and pushing him back a few feet. Bucky ducks and moves forward again, dropping to pivot on one arm while his legs wrap around Steve’s shoulders. Or, rather, that’s what should have happened. Steve jumps back at the last minute, catching one of Bucky’s ankles and tossing him. Bucky drops hard, the impact knocking the breath out of him, and it took him a second to get back to his feet. 

It ends a few minutes later, Steve’s arm around Bucky’s throat. Bucky taps out, and Steve releases him, standing as Bucky rolls away, coming to his feet a few feet away. He dusts his hands off on his pants, and glances up. 

“We’re eating at 7:00.” 

“I’ll pick up dessert.” 

Bucky nods. “Good.” He heads across the mats towards the door, and Steve follows after him. They arrive on their floor just as Sam is walking out of Amy’s apartment, so their both in the hall as Steve and Bucky walk up. 

“Good workout?” Sam asks, failing to hide the amusement on his face. 

“Great. I’m going to grab a quick shower, and then go find something to bring tonight for dessert. You don’t mind an extra person tonight, do you?” Steve asks. Amelia gives him an odd look, but shakes her head. 

“No. Always room for one more. Were you bringing a guest?” 

“Huh? No. Bucky invited me after I bested him while we were sparring.” 

Amy’s eyebrow arches a bit. “Did he now? Awfully nice of him.” 

Bucky looks like he’s in pain, and Steve doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s not sure he wants to know. So, he just shakes his head and disappears into his apartment, leaving Bucky standing in the hallway. 

***

“So, would this be the dinner you invited me to?” Sam asks, glancing between Bucky and Amy. 

“That’d be the one,” Amy responds, her gaze trained on Bucky. He squirms a bit, but still manages a not-quite sheepish smile. 

“Had to give him some incentive.” 

“Uh huh. And what would you have done had he lost?” 

Bucky shrugs. “He didn’t.” 

“You let him win.” 

“Not-- Not _exactly_. I just might not have fought back as hard as I could have. And, you know, a couple months without practice, so I was really just warming up by the fifth round.” He gives her the tiniest smirk, but there’s nothing but humor shining in his eyes. 

Sam watches them interact, and god, if it doesn’t still boggle his mind. But then Amelia reaches out towards Bucky, to slip under his arm, maybe, or to take his hand, and stops, her hand freezing in an aborted movement as something that borders on panic flickers across her face. Sam knows that Bucky notices by the way he stiffens, just a little bit, and takes a tiny, shuffling step back. Amelia looks kind of miserable, her hand falling back to her side. 

Well. This was getting more complicated by the moment. 

“So, as soon as Steve’s out of the shower, I was going to drag him downtown for a couple hours, if neither of you had plans. We’ll be back by dinner. You said seven, right?” Amelia nods. “Perfect. We’ll be here.” He returns to Steve’s apartment, closing the door tightly behind him. Hopefully, by taking himself out of the situation, Bucky and Amelia will take a few minutes to sort things out between themselves. 

Not the case, as it turned out, but he was hoping.

***

Steve and Wilson arrive just before 7:00. Sam has a bottle of wine and a six pack in his hands, while Steve carries a box from the bakery down the street. Amy is still up grilling, but Bucky has the sides ready and waiting on the table, right next to the table settings. 

Sam sets the drinks into the fridge while Steve helps to carry the last bowl over to the table. “Is this your mom’s pasta salad?” he asks. 

Bucky stops. “Oh. Uhm. I don’t know. I knew how to make it, though, and we had all of the ingredients, so…” He tries to shrug it off. No big deal, right? I mean, he knew that he had to know the recipe from somewhere, and his mom? Yeah, okay, that’s the logical conclusion. So knowing the ingredients, but not knowing how that knowledge developed, not having any memory of his mother preparing or serving the dish, shouldn’t come as a surprise. It shouldn’t feel like a kick to the chest.

Kinda does, though. 

“She used to make it every year for my birthday. My mom would invite your family over, and your ma always brought the pasta salad. It looks like the exact same recipe. God, Buck, I never thought I’d have this again. I tried to make it myself a few times, but I was missing one of the spices, and could never figure out which one.” 

“Sage.” The word falls out of his mouth before his mind can come up with the answer.

Steve grins, and it’s so open and excited, like Bucky just handed the guy the moon on a silver platter, that it almost hurts. “I don’t know why I couldn’t remember that. Sage. Huh.” 

Bucky fakes nonchalance, rolling his eyes. “Because you could never remember the name of it. You called it _‘that stuff that tastes like Thanksgiving’_.” 

Steve’s smile is a bit abashed, but it doesn’t fade at all as he sets the bowl down. Bucky wanders back into the kitchen, wiping down spotless counters just to keep his hands busy. 

Amelia walks in a few minutes later, and Steve rushes over to the door to take the large tray, laden with meat, from her hands. 

“Thanks. Let me wash my hands real quick, but why don’t you guys go ahead and sit down.” 

Bucky moves closer to the table, but he waits, as do Sam and Steve. Amelia turns, towel in hand, and shakes her head, but gamely walks over, letting Bucky pull out her chair for her before he takes his seat beside her. Within a few minutes, every plate is piled with food, and the conversation is flowing freely. 

“So, I’d only been awake for a couple months, and Fury called me out to do a basic retrieval op, or at least, what he called a basic retrieval.”

Bucky watches Amelia laughing along with Steve’s story, looking open and happy. And the kiss looms like a living, pulsing thing in his mind, overshadowing everything. She hasn’t mentioned it, but it feels tense between them. More than once, she’s pulled back instead of reaching out, and he has too, and he _hates_ this. He hates feeling like he doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to her. He hates feeling alone, which is exactly what it feels like when she’s pulling away every time he comes within a few feet of her. 

His fault, though. He kissed her. And, it was amazing, but maybe it was also a huge mistake. Because if he can’t fix this, he might lose her. 

Dinner drags, even if only an hour goes by. Bucky responds when it’s expected of him, and otherwise tries to stay uninvolved. As soon as dinner is over, he fakes a headache and returns to his own bedroom, trying to ignore the worried look the others gave him as he left.

***

_“He’s not ready.”_

Her words from earlier that afternoon haunt her. She wasn’t good at this. And as right as the kiss felt, Bucky had been nothing but tense around her since then, and she really wished that she knew why. Was it regret, or was he as nervous as she was in the aftermath? 

Steve and Sam didn’t linger long after Bucky left. They helped with cleanup (she noticed that the conversation strictly avoided any discussion of Bucky), and then left a few minutes after. Alone, she finished up a few more household chores (Tony keeps offering to send in a cleaner, but it’s her private space, so _thanks_ , Tony, but no), and then she calls it quit for the night.

Amelia is just settling onto the couch with a book and a cup of tea when her door opens and Bucky walks in. He’s staring at the door, looking utterly lost. 

“It just keeps opening,” he explains, hesitantly stepping through. “I didn’t get to knock.” 

“I have it set to open for you.” 

His brow furrows, but he seems to accept the answer. Which was good, because it was way too late at night to try explaining JARVIS to him. He walks in, settling down on the couch a couple feet away. 

It’s several moments before he speaks. “I’m sorry.” 

She tries to ignore the way his words curls tightly around her heart, squeezing painfully. “For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have-- The kiss. I shouldn’t have.” 

“I-- Bucky, it’s fine. I’m not holding you to anything.” 

Confusion crosses his face, gone as quickly as it comes. “Can we--” He stops, takes a breath. “Nothing’s changed?” 

She ignores the way her breath catches in her throat. Nothing’s changed? _Everything’s_ changed. She can’t keep lying to herself about the way she feels about him. But he’s not ready. So, she’ll wait. And, if she has to, if it’s the only way to fix this, she’ll lie. “No, Bucky. Nothing’s changed. It’s fine.” 

He nods sharply, and studies his fingers. “Okay. I’m-- I’m glad.” 

Amelia smiles around her breaking heart. “Yeah. Yeah, me, too.” 

He slowly moves over to sit beside her, and she shifts until she is leaning against him slightly, book still in hand. He curls his arm around her, over her waist with his hand resting on her hip. She can feel the soft puffs of his breath against her hair as he breathes, and can feel the pulse of his heart beneath her. She feels safe. Cherished. 

And if her own heart still races a little too fast when she’s this close to him, if she’s yearning for more, she’ll keep it to herself. But maybe, she thinks, this deserves a chance. And that’s something waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I've been debating this for a while, but I have a lot of deleted scenes and backstory bits that I wasn't actually planning on doing anything with, because I just couldn't fit them in and keep the flow going. I thought, maybe start up a second work and start posting them? Because, seriously, you've all been so awesomely patient with me. Interested?
> 
> Watch for the first post this weekend. I think I'm going to start off with the second half of Amelia and Steve's story.


	21. And The Rockets' Red Glare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATE: There was a glitch when I originally uploaded this, and I lost a chunk in the middle. It's fixed (Thanks, Kaffee32!). If you've already read the chapter, you can skip down to the scene after Bucky and Amy's dinner to find the addition. Sorry!**
> 
>  
> 
> *******  
> Ummm.... 
> 
> So, a few chapters ago, I promised Steve's birthday chapter. "The next chapter!" I said. Except it didn't happen. Didn't happen in the chapter after that, either. 
> 
> When I posted chapter 20, I said it again. Next chapter! And I was bound and determined to include it in this update. So, I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote some more. 
> 
> Guys, this chapter is ridiculously long. 16,000+ words. That's 43 pages, if anyone cares. But, hey, at the end, we have Steve's birthday. Finally. Yay! 
> 
> Thank you so much to the 25 people who left kudos, pushing me well above the 300 mark. And thank you for the comments, subscriptions, and for just taking the time to read all of this. I appreciate every single one of you.
> 
> Songs in this chapter: Somewhere Out There, from An American Tale, and Both Sides Now, by Joni Mitchell.
> 
> This isn't beta'd. All of the mistakes are mine, and Amelia is mine, too. Bucky isn't mine, despite my many petitions. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

Amelia finds Tony down in up lab the next morning. His hair is sticking up every which way, and there are grease stains on his pants from where he’s rubbed his hands. He barely glances up when she comes in. 

“Hand me that wrench?” 

She grabs it, setting it on the counter beside him. “Where’s Dum-E?” 

“In the corner.” 

Amelia glances over, and the robot looks back, opening and closing his claw in greeting. 

“Ah! Turn back around.” Tony scolds. “Do we need talk about what you did?” 

Dum-E chirps, and turns back to the corner. 

“So, what’s going on, kid?” 

“Yesterday.” 

Tony stands up, wiping his hands on an old rag. “About that. I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve used the suite that I didn’t even remember.” 

“Yeah, you’re a disgusting old man, but that’s not-- that’s not why I'm here.” 

“This has to do with Barnes," Tony guesses.

“I don’t-- I think I might--” She gives him a helpless look. 

“Barnes is an attractive male. It’s not unusual to respond to--” 

“Tony.” 

He sighs, glances down. “It’s more than just attraction.” 

“Yeah.” 

Tony gives a sardonic little smile. “That’s good. Good for you, kid. If you’re going to ask me about sexual positions, I have to be honest, that’s not a conversation I’m comfortable having with you. Ask Natasha; she seems limber, and I've never heard any complaints from Barton.”

"Eww. No." She tosses a clean towel at his head, and he catches it without even trying. “He doesn’t want things to change.” 

“So, the kiss?” 

“A mistake, apparently. And I’m trying to tell myself that it’s because he’s not ready, and that’d be fine, because maybe I’m not either, but what if that’s not it?” 

“What if it’s you?” 

When she can’t respond immediately, he drops the towel onto the workbench and walks over. “It’s not you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever you’re not looking, and I saw the way he looked when he kissed you.” 

She steps back a bit. “Yeah?” 

Tony regards her a moment. “Yeah, kid. The boy’s head-over-heels.” He goes over to the smoothie station, and starts putting together his breakfast. A minute later, he’s handing Amelia a cup of something mildly greenish-pink in color. “Strawberry-kiwi-kale. When does the sling come off?” 

“Supposed to be two weeks.” 

“Huh. That’s inconvenient.” 

“You have no idea. What are you working on?” 

Tony gestures to the work station. “I’m making Wilson a lighter pack. And something with a bit more maneuverability. He’ll be able to move faster, and take tighter corners.” He pauses a brief moment. “Both of which he’ll need if he’s joining the Avengers.” 

Amelia lifts her eyebrows. “Is he?” 

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t think anyone is saying anything yet, but I don’t think it’ll be long. Some of the threats we’re facing, it’d be good to have a couple more on the team.” 

“And Rhodey?” It was no secret that Tony wanted his friend on the team, at least unofficially. 

“He’s still insisting that he doesn’t want to go private sector. Give me time; I’d like to think that I’m wearing him down.” 

“He’d be a good addition,” Amelia agrees. “You’re going to need more rooms.” 

“I started work on them a few weeks ago. Do you think Sam’s going to want two bedrooms? I didn’t know whether to go with that, or maybe a larger master suite. Or maybe an office, and then do a larger living room.” 

“I have no idea. You’d have to ask him.” 

Tony makes a noncommittal sound. “Have you had a chance to get settled into your office yet?” 

“I’ll go up tomorrow morning.” 

“JARVIS, schedule the decorator for 11:00.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

“I’ll have your assistant up there after lunch. Pepper picked someone out. I approved. If you need changes made, just let me know, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” 

He’s concentrating a bit too hard on the project in front of him to not be hiding something, but by the look on his face, it’s nothing bad. With a wave of his hand, music pours out of the speakers, and he goes back to the wing pack. Amelia sips on her smoothie, just watching him work for a while, grabbing tools he needs until Dum-E is finally freed from the corner. The rhythm of Tony’s work is soothing, so she stays until Steve calls down to say that he ordered pizza, and it was about to be delivered. Tony shooed her back upstairs, and was back to work before the lab doors sealed shut behind her.

***

_The Next Morning_

 

“Just set it on the desk,” Amelia directs, and Bucky walks the last few feet and sets the cardboard box down. For a woman with only a handful of personal belongings, after the HYDRA attack and subsequent fire destroyed everything, her pile of essentials for her new upper-level office was a lot bigger than he was expecting. Amelia is looking around the massive room, a slight frown marring her features. 

“I think it needs some color.” 

Bucky looks around at the two inner walls--painted white--and the two walls of windows--both covered by a light gray privacy screen. On one side, the windows angle outward, following the shape of the tower and providing for a better view. Compared to the rest of the building, it was almost depressingly plain. There’s a large glass computer screen against one wall, and she has a multiple screen monitor system still in boxes along another. A couch is pressed along the wall opposite her desk.

The assistant has her own office, just on the other side of the door leading to Amelia’s office. Tony leaves, and Amelia swipes her hand over a lens set on the floor. A trio of hologram screens pop up, and she just grins. 

Bucky walks over to another lens on the floor, and runs his hand through the space above it. A 3D graph of light blue lines pops up. He runs his hands through, watching the way that the lines play across his skin.  
Amelia walks over, stopping at his side. 

“What does this do?” 

She hesitates about half of a second. “JARVIS, pull up the schematics for the eco-bike.” 

A figure appears in the graph. Amelia reaches her hand in, shrinking and then expanding the bike. She spins it, removes pieces and puts them back. 

“Run the simulation,” she says, and the bike begins to move. She removes her hands, and the simulation stops. She smirks. “Back in business.” 

“Who’s JARVIS?” 

“Hmm?” she asks, still sliding things around on the screens. 

“JARVIS. Sam mentioned him the first morning he was here, and now you have, too.” 

Amelia pauses before she turns. “He’s Tony’s AI. JARVIS runs the building, handles security, and has groceries delivered, along with about a dozen other things. He’s also Tony’s butler-slash-personal assistant.”

Bucky frowns. “AI? Artificial intelligence?”

“JARVIS?” Amelia questions, glancing towards the ceiling. 

“Greetings, Sergeant Barnes.” 

The voice, male and mildly British, comes from what seems like thin air. He stares around the room. “Where are you?” 

“My speakers and sensors are placed near the light sockets.” 

Bucky moves closer, peering intently at one of the ceiling lights. “You can see us?” 

“In a matter of speaking, yes. My sensors track heat and vital signs, and my visual relays monitor your location and physical state.” 

“Huh.” He moves closer to the light, climbing onto the chair to get a closer look. “What else can you do?” 

“I can do many things, Sergeant Barnes. Is there some way I may be of assistance?

“Not really.” He finds the small black sensor, and pokes it. 

“Bucky, don’t break JARVIS,” comes Amelia’s amused warning. 

He hops back off the chair. “He’s been here this whole time?” 

“Yeah. We didn’t know how you were going to take it, though, so we were going to wait to tell you.” 

“We, meaning you and Steve?” 

“And Sam.” 

“You slipped.

“One of us was bound to do it eventually.” She eyes him carefully. “Are you freaking out?” 

He pauses, and looks back up at the sensor. “You keep the residents safe? From attacks, and stuff?” 

“I endeavor to do my best. There are several lines of defense that I am capable of triggering to protect Sir and the other residents of the Tower, either from outside threats or internal...incidents.” 

At Bucky’s questioning glance, Amelia shrugs. “Tony’s a bit of a mad scientist. Sometimes, things explode. We have fireproof glass shields, sprinklers, and chemical washes, all set to activate as necessary.” 

Bucky turns to face her more fully. “Is this a common thing?” 

“Not as uncommon as we’d like, but it’s hardly an everyday occurrence. JARVIS takes good care of him, I promise.” 

“Not him I’m worried about, doll,” Bucky admits. 

She just smiles a bit, and takes another look around the office. “What do you think about hardwood flooring?” 

***

By the time the designer leaves and lunch is ready, Bucky is more than happy to settle down on the couch for a bit. He’d never spent so much time looking at paint chips, furniture catalogs, and flooring samples. But, he had to admit that the finished room was going to be stunning, and nothing at all like the institutional feel of the current design. 

They eat at her desk, chatting about nothing important, and then she starts to setting up her space and reviewing notes while he relaxes on the couch. He’s meeting Steve later for another sparring session, but he’s free until then, and can’t think of anything better to do. Also, the apartments, both hers and Steve’s, still feel too big when he’s in them alone.

He looks up, picking up the black sensors near all three of the lights in the room. He can’t decide if JARVIS is something (someone?) he should worry about or not. The constant monitoring is a shade too close to his time with HYDRA. Privacy, he’s learned, is something best left closely guarded. On the other hand… His gaze travels to Amelia. She isn’t a superhero. No special training, no serum to keep her alive in the case of an attack. She can fire a gun--Steve insisted that she learned--but she doesn’t keep one on her. 

Although, there are plenty of places around the office that could hide one. He’d have to look into that. 

Still, knowing that there is another line of defense standing between Amelia and whatever threats might make it into the Tower makes him a little less anxious about leaving her alone. If he’s not right there to protect her, he’s glad to know that someone (something? Whatever.) still is.

He stands, and walks back into the other room. Amelia is kneeling behind her desk, setting up file folders in one of the drawers. He leans over, watching for a moment before she notices him. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

“Not at the moment. Actually, can you just hand me that--”

There’s a soft knock at the doorway, and Bucky glances over the same time Amelia does. The woman standing there is a few years younger than Amelia, and a few inches taller. Red hair is swept up in a neat bun, and there are freckles across her face. She’s smiling a bit impishly as she looks into the room. 

She’s also pregnant. Very. 

“Kate!” Amelia jumps up, and rushes over, enveloping the other woman in a brief hug before pulling back. “Look at you! You’re glowing! I haven’t seen you in forever. When did this happen?” 

“About seven months ago,” the woman jokes, with a wry smile. “I think we’ve worked out the date, if you’d like specifics.”

She has a soft lilt to her voice. Irish, he thinks. 

“No, I’m good,” Amelia responds with a blush. “What are you doing here?” 

“Tony mentioned you might be in need of an assistant, actually.” 

“You? You’re my assistant?”

“I am, if you’ll have me.” 

“Can’t think of anyone better. Oh, and come in. There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

Bucky straightens a bit as Amelia leads Kate over. She takes the space at his side. “Kate, this is Sergeant James Barnes. Bucky, meet Kate. She’s worked for Tony since before I knew him.” 

“Going on five years now.” Kate holds her hand out, her left, he notices, and he reluctantly takes it. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky nods, trying to ignore the discomfort that the use of his title brings. “Just Bucky is fine.” 

“Bucky, then.” Her smile is wide and friendly. He removes his hand as politely as he can, and turns to Amelia. “You probably have catching up to do. I’ll be down in the apartment. See you when you get done. Nice to meet you, Kate.”

He leaves as casually as he can manage. There’s a new science fiction book waiting him in Amelia’s living room (courtesy of Steve), and he doesn’t want to interrupt her return to work. Starting the next morning, he’ll have to get used to her being gone all day again, and while he’s not thrilled, at least he knows she’s safe and she doesn’t have to leave the Tower without him. 

*****

A week and a half pass quickly. It’s July 2nd, a Wednesday, and nearly noon. Bucky sits on his bed in Steve’s apartment, sorting through a small pile of photographs. Some are old ones, some with faces he remembers, others with people he feels like he should know. About half of them are black and white, with frayed edges and bent corners. The other half are in color, copies of ones Amelia had made up for Steve shortly after they met.

There’s another small pile sitting at his side, all recently printed from the printer in Amelia’s home office. Steve surprised him with a camera a week ago, after looking through some of the pictures on his phone. Since then, Bucky had tried to take pictures of the people and things that mattered. Amelia. Steve. Even Sam, when he came up over the last weekend. 

On the top of the pile. there’s a picture of Steve, Amelia, and himself, taken by Natasha at a group dinner the week before. Bucky was sitting in the middle, a mostly empty plate in front of him, and Amelia and Steve each leaned in, arms going around his shoulders. Amelia is smiling, and Steve’s mouth is open, his head tilting back a bit in a laugh. Bucky was trying to look annoyed at their antics, but the corners of his lips are pulling upward, and he can see the humor in his eyes. 

He slides it over, and sets it beside a picture of him and Steve with the Howling Commandos. Their team. Men who are now more than half-remembered faces. He’s missing a lot of their time together still, but with what he has remembered, he knows that those men mattered. They were friends. Brothers. Their loss, no matter how many years ago, burns in his chest. Another memory, another layer of grief in his heart. 

The Bucky in that old photograph stares resolutely into the camera. While some of the men have a ghost of a smile on their faces, he just looks...tired. Haunted. And Steve ignores the camera, his worried gaze focused on Bucky’s face. 

There’s a soft knock on the bedroom doorway, and Bucky turns, expecting Amelia. Instead, it’s Steve standing there, hands in his pockets, and head ducked a bit. 

“Hey, Buck. Mind if I come in?” 

Bucky shrugs and goes back to the pictures. “You’re early.” 

“Meeting wrapped up.” Steve moves to stand beside him, and looks down at the pictures. “I remember the day we took that,” he says, tapping a finger on the edge of the photo of the Commandos. “We’d just made it through our first mission together. This was….maybe two weeks after I found you in the HYDRA facility.” 

“It was bad? Where I was being held? I don’t remember much from there.” And Steve has never brought it up. 

“You were in bad shape when I found you, yeah. Recovered quickly, though. I should have known then that something was up. You wouldn’t talk about any of it for nearly a month after. It wasn’t until--” He breaks off. 

“Until what?” Bucky asks, not entirely certain that he wants an answer. 

“You hadn’t been sleeping. I found you one night, well after the others were sleeping, just staring out over this lake we were camping by. There was blood all over the snow at your feet. You wouldn’t even look at me. There was a cut on your hand, but I didn’t think anything of it. We got hurt; it didn’t look bad, so I didn’t worry. Looking back, maybe I should have. Finally, you looked up and asked what was wrong with you. I knew that you were struggling, but--” He breaks off. “I think you might have been asking about what they did to you.”

Bucky stares back down at the picture. “I didn’t tell you about the serum.”

Steve shakes his head, and then slides some pictures over to make room to sit on the bed. “I knew that they’d done something, and I knew that they were working on a serum, but I never thought-- You never gave me the details, but I got the feeling that it was a lot worse for you than my procedure had been. Had I known--” 

“Didn’t want you to worry,” Bucky admits softly, but there’s no question behind the words. He knows this, as well as he knows anything. But as Steve told him about the night by the lake, Bucky could see it. He could feel the cold seeping in through his boots, until he could barely feel his toes. He remembered taking the small blade to his palm, watching the blood well and then spill. And then stop, as the torn skin began to slowly heal. He watched with horrified fascination, the whole time wondering what other surprises he’d find, given time. He didn’t feel stronger. He didn’t feel better, or braver, or more loyal. He felt scared. 

Steve had told him that the serum was designed to make the recipient _more_. It took their essential self and amplified it. Steve became a six-foot-two super hero. Schmidt became a monster. 

And Bucky? His hands were a little steadier when he took a shot. He could see and hear better. His endurance was greater. All the skills needed to make a good soldier into a great soldier. A good man into an even better killer. And if there was a part of him that felt numb after, if it felt like he’d left a piece of his humanity in Zola’s lab? Well, Steve didn’t need to know that. Bucky had spent his life looking after Steve, and that wasn’t about to stop just because Steve didn’t need someone to rescue him from the neighborhood bullies anymore. But he could still do this. He could protect Steve from the truth of what had happened in the HYDRA facility. So, he kept his silence. 

Bucky chances a glance at Steve, who is looking right back at him. 

“I could have handled it,” Steve insists. 

“Doesn’t mean you needed to,” Bucky replies. He glances at the clock. It’s ten minutes after noon. “I’m meeting Amelia for lunch over at her place. Did you want to join us?” 

Steve nods and puts the pictures back into their box. Bucky takes it from him, and returns it to the shelf. When he turns back around, Steve is standing only a couple feet away. The taller blond sets a heavy hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Bucky,” Steve says, simply, before turning to leave the room. Bucky is left standing there, a lump in his throat, as he watches Steve’s retreating form. He swallows back the unexpected emotions, and, with a sharp shake of his head, follows after him. 

Lunch is a quiet affair. Steve carries the conversation, keeping the topic light. Amelia, who finally had her sling removed the day before, had insisted on sub sandwiches, something she explained just couldn’t be eaten with just one hand. Steve’s phone rings shortly after they’re done eating, and he makes his apologies as he heads out the door. 

Amelia washes the dishes while Bucky wipes down the table. He’s done first, so he stands back and watches her for a few minutes before stepping in to dry. It’s been two and a half months, maybe a couple days more, since he landed on her doorstep. That night, as he walked along the side of the road on his way up from DC, he only wanted to ask a few questions. Or something. Truthfully, he still didn’t quite understand what led him out of the city and towards Eddisburg, only that not doing so didn’t really feel like much of an option at the time. And, really, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do with himself. 

He’d been scared, and cold, and so unsure of everything. He’d expected to get shot on sight, or turned away, the door slammed in his face. He’d never expected to get invited in. He’d never expected to find a friend, or to end up living in Avengers tower. He never expected the girl from the picture to hand him his life back and give him a second chance. 

She washes the last plate, and drains the sink. “I had a few boxes delivered this morning,” she said, gesturing to the three or four large boxes sitting just inside her office. “I was going to start sorting through it all, but you’re welcome to stay.”

He starts towards the boxes. “Where do you want them?” 

“I can--” 

“You’re still supposed to be taking it easy with that arm. Where do you want them?” 

“Coffee table is fine. Thank you.” 

He hauls the first one out, and she starts opening it as he moves the others. She starts sorting books onto her bookshelves. After a moment or two, she asks JARVIS to play some music, and starts humming along with the song that’s playing. 

“You still haven’t played for me,” Bucky remarks, as he starts sorting through next box and pulling out more books. AS far as he can tell, the piano has sat untouched since they moved in. 

She considers. “Tonight, after dinner. I promise.” 

“I’m holding you to that, doll.” 

He pulls out another book, and glances down at the title. “Is this any good?” he asks, holding it up. 

“ _American Gods_? Yeah. Go ahead and read it, if you want. I can take care of these.” 

He settles onto the couch, book in hand. The next time he glances up, it was nearly three, and Steve is standing beside him.

“When did you get here?” Bucky asks.

“A few minutes ago. Get up. We have a meeting with Hill in twenty minutes.” 

Bucky casts him an annoyed look. “You couldn’t have called ahead?” 

“She just texted me a few minutes ago. Come on. She’s waiting on the 26th floor.” 

“Everything alright?” Amelia asks, standing in the doorway. 

“Just a meeting,” Bucky tells her, coming to his feet. “Did Agent Hill say what it was for?” 

Steve shakes his head, but Bucky can see it in the worry on his face; he has a good guess, but he’s not willing to share. Amelia must have come to the same conclusion, because she moves in, touching his arm. 

“I’ll finish up here while you’re gone, if you want to find me after, and I’ll order in dinner for later.” 

He nods, reaching up to lightly squeeze her hand where it rests against his skin. Her hand falls away, and he follows Steve out the door. 

“What’s this about, really?” he asks, as soon as the elevator doors close in front of them. 

“Your rehabilitation,” Steve admits. 

“I’m doing fine.” 

“I know, Buck. But there’s been talk about asking you to join the team, and this is the first step.” 

Bucky stares at Steve through the side of his eyes. Steve is trying really hard to hide his enthusiasm for the idea. He hasn’t come out and said it, but Bucky kind of knew that Steve’s end goal was to fight along beside him again. 

And, really, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t put any thought into the idea. He didn’t want to fight anymore, not really, but he’d be damned if he let Steve go out without him, not when he had the opportunity to be there. He’d seen the footage; Steve hadn’t mellowed out at all in his old age. If anything, the boy who used to take on bullies in Brooklyn has only got more foolhardy of late. Bucky needed to be there to keep Steve from killing himself in the name of being a hero. 

But the actual process to get to that point? He hasn’t really given that part much thought.  
The meeting begins on a high note. He’s handed a government ID and driver’s license, a passport, and a credit card with his name written on it, attached to a bank account that holds 70+ years of back pay. When Agent Hill slides him over a bank statement, he has to read the number a half dozen times to make sure he’s reading it right. 

And then, they get into the difficult part of the conversation. Yes, Maria has no control over whether or not the Avengers bring Bucky into the fold. However, it’d be safer for everyone involved if he did it their way. A full debrief, questioning, deprogramming, counseling. Carefully screened experts to knit him back into a real person again. And Steve seemed agitated, when the full list of required services is read. He protests, even. And Maria makes the case that, for the best results, he’s going to need all of it. 

So, in the end, it is left up to him. And he freezes. He’s aware of Steve calling his name, and when he doesn’t respond, someone tugs him to a stand and pulls him out of the room, and Steve is telling him that he doesn’t have to do _anything_ that he isn’t comfortable with. Tells him that, know matter what he chooses, he and Amelia and Sam are there for him, every step of the way. The whole team is behind him. Bucky, _breathe_. The next thing he knows, the elevator door is opening, and he can’t get his lungs to work. And this is stupid, because there’s _nothing_ wrong, nothing to be afraid of here. There’s no threat. Why does he feel like the walls are closing in on him?

The doors open again, and Bucky brushes past Steve, slipping into Amelia’s apartment and closing the door behind him. She looks up from her book as he walks in, taking one look at his face before immediately setting it down and moving to his side. Before he can say a word, she has her arms wrapped around him. He returns the embrace, burying his face into her hair and inhaling deeply, chest finally loosening enough to allow air into his lungs.

“What happened?” she asks after a moment. Bucky shakes his head. He doesn't want to talk right now; he wants to hold her. He wants to feel something warm and soft in his arms, something real. 

“Dance with me, doll,” he says. _Don’t let go,”_ is what he means. And there’s something in his voice that has her agreeing without comment. She just holds a little tighter, and lets him take the lead.

“JARVIS, play something slow,” he requests. As the soft strains come through the speaker, he takes her and leads her to an open space. And then, his arms come around her, and her head rests against his shoulder, and she’s holding so tightly. He’s shaking, he realizes, and his sure feet stumble a bit.

Amelia doesn’t say a word as he moves them in slow circles, and that’s good, because he doesn’t know what to tell her. So the first song ends, and the second starts, and then a third. The fourth is a little more uptempo, a bit closer to what he remembers. And so he starts to move, and the next thing he knows, he’s leading her through steps his feet haven’t practiced in seventy years. She holds his hand as he swings her around, responding to every gentle push and pull as he directs her in which way to move. The panic gives way, and when the last song stops, she’s in his arms, staring up at him with a smile, even though he can still see the worry lingering in her gaze. He drops his head, resting his cheek against hers. 

He holds her for a while longer, until she pulls back a bit. 

“Do I have to go yell at Maria? Because say the word, and I will.” 

Bucky shakes his head, and steps back before heading out to the kitchen for a couple glasses of water. He hands one to Amelia as then goes to sit down out in the living room. “She’s probably right,” he says finally. 

“About what?” Amelia asks, sitting down so she was turned towards him, her arm tucking across his waist. 

“Debrief. Questioning. Deprogramming. Counseling. She’s telling it like she’s trying to help. More like she wants to make sure they’ve gotten everything useful from me, and that I’m not going to slip and kill anyone.” He can hear the bitterness in his voice. 

She makes a noncommittal sound, but her arm tightens around him, just a bit. 

“I get through that, and there’s nothing stopping me from joining the team, but Steve says I don’t need to do any of it. He just wants me there, with the others. Maybe-- Maybe not yet. But that’s his goal. Us, together again.”

“And what do you want?” 

“Him safe. HYDRA gone. If that means joining the team, I’ll do that. And, maybe talking to someone will help. Don’t think I’m going to get out of the debrief; really, I’m surprised they didn’t drag me off for that the moment I stepped foot in the Tower.” 

“Bring Steve with you. Look, Hill has no authority over you. You get that, right? You’re here under Tony’s protection. When you’re ready to join the team, the only approval you need is from the team itself. No one else gets a say.” 

He nods. “What do you think?” 

She blows out a breath. “I think that any information about HYDRA you might remember is going to make it that much easier to take them out, for good this time. I think that talking to someone, someone who knows what they’re doing, would be good for you, but not until you’re ready. And when you are, if you don’t want it to be a stranger, I know that Sam would be more than happy to work with you.” She shifts, looking up at him. “You’ve come a long ways, Bucky, and in just a few months. I’m so proud of you. And whatever you decide, you have my full support.”

He nods, and presses his lips against her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers against her skin. She nods. 

“Have you ordered dinner yet?”

She shakes her head. “No. What did you want?” 

“Let me take you out.” He reaches around to his pocket, and pulls his wallet free, showing her his ID. “I’m a real boy now, and, as it turns out, I have 70 years of back pay sitting around. Thought maybe I could treat you to something nice.” 

“You really don’t have to--”

“I know, but I-- Let me do this, Amelia. Besides, we’ve both been cooped up in this place for a couple weeks. You must be getting antsy by now.” 

A tiny smile flickers across her lips. “Starting to. Where did you want to go?” 

“Thought I might ask Steve for a recommendation.” 

“If I may, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS cut in, “Sir has standing reservations at several fine restaurants around the city. I’ll forward a list to your phone. Once you know your preference, I’ll alert the staff to expect you.” 

Bucky’s eyes went a bit wide. “You can do that?” 

“Sir strives to provide for all of his guests needs.”

Bucky’s phone pings, and he looks down at the list. “I’m gonna go ask Steve. I’ll meet you back here around 6:30?” 

“I’ll be ready.” She slips over a few inches, letting him get up. Still staring down at his phone, he makes his way out of her apartment and into Steve’s. 

“Steve, I need help!” he calls, as he walks in the door. 

Steve pops his head around the corner. “Bucky? Is everything okay? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

He blinks. “What? No-- I just--- I need help picking a restaurant.” 

It was Steve’s turn to look confused. “You need-- what?” 

“I wanted to take Amelia out for dinner. Tony has reservations at a few different places. I thought maybe you could help pick one out.” 

Steve beams. “Is this a date?” 

Bucky chokes on air, and can feel his face turning red. “ _Christ_ , Rogers. No. This is… It’s a night out with a friend. We used to do that, right? Dinner together?” 

Steve reaches out and grabs the phone, browsing through the choices with a low whistle. “Yeah, but you never took me to any place like this.” 

Bucky shrugs. “She took care of me. She’s still taking care of me. I want to do this.”

Steve looks down at the list again, before pointing to one. “Here. That’s the one.” 

Bucky takes the phone back. “JARVIS, can we get the reservation for The Tavern at 7:30?” 

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes. Will that be all?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky responds, before turning to Steve. “Now, what the hell am I supposed to wear?” 

***

Bucky knocks on Amelia’s door at 6:30 sharp. He’s wearing dress pants and a button up shirt, with a light jacket over it, and a nervous smile that he can’t quite seem to shake. A black glove covers his left hand. Sam and Steve had both given him a thumbs up on his way out the door, which wasn’t nearly as reassuring as they’d probably meant it to be. 

Not a date. This isn't a date. It's just two friends going out for dinner. He shouldn’t feel weird about not showing up with flowers or something (Sam talked him out of it). 

The door opens, and Amelia is standing there. He swallows hard. “You look--” Stunning. _Gorgeous_. “Beautiful.” 

She blushes, and glances down at her dress. It’s black, full length, with cream colored dots scattered around it. The waist is pulled tight with a faux belt and a trio of silk flowers, and the skirt flares out around her legs. Her hair is falling around her shoulders, curled softly but left down.

He catches a flash of red hair behind her, and Natasha comes into view, camera in hand. “Smile, kids.” 

“Nat--” Amelia’s tone holds a hint of warning. 

“I promised Clint that I’d get a picture. You never let us dress you up, moya golubushka.” 

“I didn’t actually let you dress me up this time, Nat. You just showed up.” 

“I did your hair!” the ex-assassin protests. “Come on, Clint won’t be back until morning.” Amela rolls her eyes, but steps closer to Bucky, putting her arms around his waist. She’s an inch or two taller, he realizes. Heels. His arm goes over her shoulders, and he smiles obediently for the camera. He’ll get a copy from Steve once he gets back. 

Natasha smirks, and takes the picture. “Not bad,” she comments, looking down at the screen. “Tony’s on his way down, by the way. If you want to make your reservation, you might want to head towards the elevator.”

“Right. We should go, then. Ready?” she asks, looking up at him. He nods, and offers his arm. She takes it, and all but drags him out of the apartment and towards the elevator. As soon as they reach it, the doors open, and Tony steps out. 

“Well. Look at you two all dressed up. Big night?”

“Not really. Just stretching our legs a bit. Getting some fresh air. Dinner, “ Amelia replies, and the look she is giving Tony dares him to make a smart comment. 

Tony turns his attention to Bucky. “Back by midnight; I will be waiting up. And if you’re going to ‘stretch your legs’, don’t do it in the public areas.” 

Bucky can’t seem to help the heat moving up his neck. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, sir.” 

Amelia groans. “Tony…” 

“Right. Fine. Look, just...take care of her, Frosty, alright? Bring her back in one piece.” 

“I will.”

“Perfectly capable of getting myself back in one piece,” Amelia mumbles under her breath. Bucky smirks just a bit, and then moves his arm from hers, and sets his hand against her lower back, gently leading her around Stark. 

The elevator opens on the main floor, and he leads her out through the lobby and then starts down the sidewalk. There’s a car waiting, whisking them from 200 Park Ave. up to 62nd. They arrive right on time, pulling up in front of The Tavern, which despite its name, looked nothing like any tavern he remembers ever being in (which, all things given, may not be saying much. It’s upscale, and the carhop is dressed nearly as nice as Bucky is.

They walk in, and a hostess shows them to a quiet table near the back. Bucky pulls out Amelia’s chair, and waits for her to sit before taking his place. The inside is even nicer than he was expecting; Amelia seems to think so, too, if the look on her face is anything to go by. 

“Steve recommended this place,” he tells her. “How’d he do?” 

“This is... really nice, Bucky. And Steve picked this place?” 

“Yeah. It was one of the ones JARVIS recommended.” 

“Huh. I’m surprised. Given a choice, he always picks some little out of the way diner somewhere. There’s a tiny one about four blocks from the Tower that makes milkshakes with hard ice cream, and they’re open 24/7. He’s very fond of it.” 

Bucky snorts. “Never woulda known, looking at him back then, but Steve’s always had a sweet tooth bigger than anyone else I knew. Not that we got to indulge it very often.” 

Before Amelia can reply, their waitress walks up to take their order. He lets Amelia order first, and then places his own. The dishes are all twenty times more complicated than anything he’s ever tried before, and some of the ingredients are foreign to him ( _what the heck is escarole?_ ), which isn’t helping how out-of-place he’s feeling. Despite the gaps in his memory, he knows that this is the sort of place he could have only dreamed of as a kid growing up in Brooklyn. 

Amelia, however, looks right at home in this environment. One of the perks of being friends with a Stark, he guesses. Meanwhile, he is trying to keep his head down, waiting for someone to call him out as an imposter. And that’s ignoring the way the crowds and traffic outside the car window add to his anxiety. 

The waitress brings out a bottle of wine, a bread bowl, and their appetizers, and Bucky’s trying to ignore the unease settling in his stomach. He picks at a small roll, and tries to concentrate on what Amelia’s saying, but it’s like everyone in the restaurant is talking, and his brain is rapidly trying to follow all of the conversations at one. All he wants is quiet. 

“Bucky?” 

He blinks, and catches Amelia’s worried gaze. She’s watching him, waiting for a response of some sort. “Sorry. I-- What did you ask?”

“I didn’t ask anything. You zoned out. Are you still with me?” 

He nods. “Yeah. Just-- Excuse me for a moment.” He gives her what he hopes is an apologetic smile, and quickly makes his way to the restrooms. He locks himself inside a stall, and closes his eyes, forcing back the impending panic. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. He was going to be charming and _normal_ , try to show Amelia a bit more of the man he used to be. He’d hoped that a night out might help him to bring a bit more of that man to the surface. Instead, he’s falling apart in the middle of a nice restaurant and it makes _no_ sense what-so-ever. There’s no threat here. No bad guys, no mission. It’s just him and his--- He stops, quickly redirecting that thought. It’s just him and Amelia. And all he wanted was just one night off from the crazy inside his head to thank her, and to show her that he was worth the effort she’s put into him. 

And, instead, he’s hiding in the bathroom, leaving her to sit out at the table by herself. 

_Christ. What the hell was wrong with him?_

He pulls his phone out. He could call Steve. Steve would know what to do. Or maybe Sam. Sam programmed his number in the morning he left to go back to DC, and had texted a few times since then. Maybe Sam could talk him through whatever this was. 

Bucky sticks the phone back in his pocket. Amelia is still waiting. He’d call later; if he couldn’t handle a few hours away from the Tower, then he was in worse shape than he thought. He could do this. 

So, he takes another breath and unlocks the stall. He washes his hands, splashes some water on his face, and leaves the bathroom. Amelia is still at the table, idly drawing shapes on the tablecloth with her finger, when he walks back into the dining room. Her back is to him, so she doesn’t notice him until he’s nearly beside the table. 

“Sorry about that,” he says lightly. “Just needed a few minutes.” 

“Did it help?” 

He nods. “Feeling better already. The quiet helped.” 

She nods, and reaches out to briefly touch his hand. “I’m glad,” she says. 

He turns his hand around, and wraps his fingers into hers before she can pull back. Amelia smiles, and runs her thumb across the back of his hand, but doesn’t say anything.

The rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch, or, rather, without a giant Winter Soldier-sized hitch. If he is clinging to normal by his fingernails, and if Amelia has her knee pressed to his leg beneath the table and her hand in his to keep him grounded, well, to the rest of the restaurant, they just look like any other young couple. 

Amelia insists that they get their dessert to go, so the waitress brings them a couple of to-go boxes with their check. He pays, and they head out, his hand against the small of her back as they navigate between tables. As soon as their clear of the front door, she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. He sets his hand over hers, stopping her from calling for their ride. She pauses, and he shrugs. “Not yet. Can we walk?”

***

 _“Can we walk?”_ he asks. “At least to the park? It’s a beautiful night; it’d be a shame to end it so early.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” The night’s gorgeous. It’s warm, but not so hot that the city air is uncomfortable, and the streets in area aren’t as crowded as they were during the day. Which is good, seeing as Bucky still isn’t as fine as he’s pretending to be. She’s been watching him slowly unravel since they climbed out of the car in front of The Tavern. 

She’s fighting the impulse to call Steve and get Bucky back to the Tower as quickly as possible. The safest move, for Bucky and likely anyone else, is to get him somewhere he feels comfortable, and stay close as he decompresses. But he’s trying so hard to make it a good night, and she gets the feeling that calling it quits and running home would do more damage than it could ever do good. He needs this, a night out away from everything, as hard won as it might be. And she’s not going to be the one who takes it away from him. 

Amelia slips under his arm, and presses into his side as they walk. Her arm is around him, fingers resting easily on the small of his back. His muscles are tense beneath her touch, but he brings his arm up and around her shoulders, cradling her against his side. 

“Dinner was wonderful. Thank you.” If she can draw him into a conversation, there might be a chance of pulling him back. 

He grunts a response, his gaze moving across the crowds, seeking out threats. The night’s deteriorating rapidly, and she’s running out of time to get him somewhere quiet, safe, and out of the way of passing pedestrians. Central Park is only five blocks away; if she can get him that far, they can find someplace quiet, someplace to sit and work through the worst of it. 

From somewhere behind them, she can hear the sound of boots running on pavement. Bucky winces, and pulls tighter into himself. 

“Bucky, you’re safe. I’m right here. Hey, look at me.” 

Bucky’s gaze flickers over to her, barely registering her presence. But he does pull her closer. 

“We need to find someplace quiet. Can you make it to the park?” 

He pauses, glances at her, and nods. 

“Alright. If that changes, you let me know, okay? We’ll duck into an alleyway somewhere.” 

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Not safe.” 

The alley, he means, and Amelia can’t contradict him. She’d avoid them, if she was out here alone, but she’s pretty sure that Bucky can handle any small-time street punk. They make the next two blocks in record time, and she can just see the first hints of the park in front of them. 

A sharp sound echoes in the streets behind them. Bucky grabs her, and shoves her into the nearest alley, pressing her against the cold wall of the building, his body covering hers. His hand reaches for the gun he keeps strapped under his jacket. 

“Bucky. Bucky, it was just a car. We’re safe.” 

He doesn’t hear her. His eyes are dark in the glow of the streetlights, and she recognizes the set of his shoulders and chin. Things have just gone from bad to critical, and she needs to pull him back before the Winter Soldier takes on downtown Manhattan. He’s already turning to better see the threat, still holding his body in front of her like a shield. 

“Hey,” she says, pitching her voice low and soft. “Look at me.” 

The Soldier turns his head slightly, meeting her eyes, his gaze questioning. She hesitates only a second before setting a hand on his arm. He glances at it, confusion marring his features for a split second before the expression falls from his face. 

“Stay here.” His face might be blank, but she can hear the care resonating in his voice. He’s not leading a mission, giving commands to his support team; even as the Soldier, he’s trying to keep her safe.

The Soldier starts off towards the main avenue. Amelia rushes after him. “Bucky!” 

He stops, turns back. There’s a gun in his hands, but he has it pointed at the ground. 

“Don’t. Come on. Come here. You’re safe.” She holds out her hand. “It’s okay now.” 

He stands still, just watching her, and she sees the conflict on his face. 

“You know me,” she presses. “You’re safe with me.” She takes a few slow steps forward until only a couple feet lay between them. Her hand comes up, setting gently against his cheek. He just barely tilts his head towards her touch, but it’s enough. She takes the last step, her arms wrapping around him, holding the Soldier with as much care as she’d ever held Bucky. He stiffens, and then, after a long moment, begins to relax into her touch. 

“Amelia.” 

She looks up, expecting to see Bucky, but it’s still the Soldier’s eyes that look down at her, inquisitive and lost. She nods. “Yeah. It’s me.” And then she sets her head against his shoulder. Slowly, very slowly, his arms circle her waist, gun still in hand. When she doesn’t pull away, his hold tightens. He turns, turning her with him, until he is facing the open end of the alley, but he doesn’t let her go. Amelia lifts her head a couple of inches. “Thank you,” she whispers. 

He nods sharply, and she doesn’t miss the way that his arms tighten just a bit more in response. She sets her head back down. 

“I’ve got you,” she promises, running a hand along his back. He shudders, and presses his face against the side of her head, gaining more contact without taking his eyes off of the front of the alley. 

“You’re safe,” he responds after a moment. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

This is no small thing. The loyalty of the Soldier, something that he’s only ever given to HYDRA, and even then, it wasn’t by his choice. This is. She feels her throat tighten. “I know.” 

He nods sharply in acknowledgement, but says nothing. He doesn’t loosen his grip either, she notices.

A long minute passes before Bucky lurches in her arms, dropping to his knees, his arms falling away. He stares down at the gun in his hands in horror.

Amelia lands beside him. “Bucky?” 

He looks up, eyes pleading. “Tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.” 

“No. You didn’t even leave the alley.” 

The gun clatters to the pavement, and he looks around, taking in his surroundings. “Amelia.” Her name is a plea. She reaches out, taking his hands in both of hers.

“Bucky, it’s okay. You stayed right with me. You let me close to you.” She quickly details the returned embrace, and the Soldier’s promise. 

He blinks. “I.. Yeah. That-- That’s never happened before.” 

“No. You’ve let me touch you when you’re like that, but you’ve never returned it, not like you did tonight.” 

He hums, and she can almost read his thoughts on his face as they cycle through his mind. 

“I’ll call Steve to come get us,” she offers after a moment. 

“No! No, not yet. Give me a few minutes.” He unsteadily pushes to his feet, and holds a hand out to help her up. Even once she’s standing, he doesn’t let go. “Sorry. This-- this probably isn’t the night out you were imagining.” 

She squeezes his hand. “Eh. I’ve had worse.” 

His eyebrows draw upwards in disbelief. “I doubt it.” 

“You’d be surprised.” She’s trying to lighten the mood, but he the look on his face says that guilt is starting to win out.

“Did you still want to head towards the park?” he offers, as he starts to lead them out of the alley. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it has to be better than where we are now. I'm fine, Amelia. Promise." He’s forcing a smile, but it’s brittle, the lie cracking around the edges.

“If you’d rather just go home--” 

“Not yet.” And so she just nods, and lets him lead the way, her hand still in his. They make it to the park without further incident, and he holds her hand, leading her through the trails. 

“You know, this hasn’t changed much since my time. I don’t remember coming here, but it all feels familiar.” Bucky pauses, looking around, and then starts off on a seldom-used trail, heading off into a grouping of trees. “This way.” 

He’s all but dragging her by the hand, and she’s half jogging behind him. When he stops, it’s so suddenly that she crashes into his back. He doesn’t seem to notice, staring at the small clearing. There’s an aging bench in the middle, the path leading to it half covered with grass. He walks over and runs the gloved fingers of his hand over the wood, a frown flickering across his face. Amelia stands at his side, hand still in his, holding back her questions. Whatever this is, she doesn’t want to interrupt it. 

He turns, his gaze scanning the woods before he starts walking towards a tree in the far corner of the clearing. Right behind it is a larger tree. He moves around it, and then stops, releasing her hand to run his fingers along the bark. Amelia leans closer, just barely making out the carving in the side of the tree.

_B.B._  
+  
M.D. 

The initials were surrounded by a small heart. She glances over to Bucky, and his smile is a bit whimsical. “Maggie Derrow. Green eyes, and the reddest hair you ever saw; a real firecracker. I thought I was going to marry her.” 

“What happened?” She asks. 

He shrugs, but his smile grows. “She moved to California at the end of sixth grade. We used to talk her ma into bringing us out here, and I carved this for her a few days before she left. Promised to wait for her.” 

“Yeah? Did you?” 

“Course I did. Unfortunately for me, she met a boy, Richard, a few months later, and I was replaced.” 

“The fickleness of young love,” she teases. 

He playfully shoves her. “I’ll have you know that I was heartbroken for weeks.” 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make fun of your childhood angst.” 

“What about you? Did you leave any broken hearts when you were growing up?” 

She laughs, and starts walking back towards the bench. “Robbie O'Dell, eighth grade. He and his mom moved here from England after his dad died. He had freckles and a stunning accent. We dated for six crazy months before I caught him kissing my best friend behind the school bleachers during homecoming weekend.” 

He winces in sympathy. “Ouch.” 

She shrugs. “I got over it.” 

“No revenge?” 

“Nah. He was kind of a crappy kisser, so I figured she deserved him.” 

She sits down on the bench, dessert containers stacked to one side, and he sits beside her, close enough that their shoulders rub as Bucky shifts around a bit to get comfortable. 

“Lucky for him I wasn’t around. He should know better than to do that to a gal.” 

Amelia laughs. “Yeah, I bet you’ve never left any broken hearts in your path.” 

“A few, maybe. I don’t really remember, but I don’t think I ever hurt a girl that way. You’re ready to move on, you move on, but make sure you aren’t lying to anyone else to do it.” 

Amelia bumps her elbow against his. “You’re a good man, Bucky.” 

He grimaces, and flexes his metal hand self-consciously. Amelia reaches over him with her opposite hand, setting it over the metal. “Don’t.” 

“I just think you might have a different definition of good man than the rest of the world does.” He doesn’t look up when he says it, his gaze fixated on the gleam of the prosthetic beneath her hand.

“I think my definition is just fine.” 

He shakes his head, his expression rueful. “Wish I was as sure as you. Can’t imagine there are too many girls out there who’ll take one look at what I’ve done and still want anything to do with me.” 

She curses internally. The thought of him with someone else feels like a kick to the chest. “The right woman won’t care. Besides, who else is going to decimate Manhattan’s tree population?” 

Bucky huffs a laugh. “All right, fine. And I think decimate might be a bit strong of a word there, doll.” 

She grins. “You know, I think there are laws against it now, too. I wouldn’t confess your tree-carving crimes to too many people. I don’t know what the statute of limitations is, but…” 

Shaking his head, he stands. “We should probably get back. Our cheesecake is going to go bad, and I’d hate to waste it. Are you ready?” 

She nods, and he tugs her to her feet, and then grabs their desserts while she pulls out her phone. Amelia unlocks the screen and pulls up Steve’s number. He answers on the first ring. 

“Amelia, where are you? We expected you both back two hours ago.” 

“We’re at Central Park, near the E 72nd entrance. Everything is fine. I don’t suppose you’d mind coming to pick us up? We’ll explain when you get here.” 

“I’m on my way. Just, stay there.” 

Amelia hangs up the phone. “He’s coming.” She reaches out, and Bucky takes her hand again, and they start along the path to their meeting place. They walk quietly together. His brows are drawn together, and his shoulders are starting to hunch up again.

“Bucky, you’re not in trouble. He’s not going to care.” 

“No?” he disagrees. “Steve fought The Asset. He knows what he can do. When he finds out that I almost set that loose on Manhattan, he can’t just brush that off, Amelia. If you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t been able to get through to me, how many people might have died before someone was able to stop me?” 

“But that didn’t happen. And you were a little jumpy, but you weren’t about to go out and start attacking people on the street. You only wanted to keep me safe. And I don’t think you’re going to set off on a murderous spree, just because you can. Give yourself a little credit.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “That’s the thing, doll. If there was a threat, or if he even thought there was a threat, I don’t know how far he’d go to keep you safe, but I can guess.” 

“It didn’t come to that.” 

“It could. And like I said, that’s not something Steve can overlook. I’m still a threat.” 

“We’ll talk to Steve, and see where things go from there, alright? And I’m not going anywhere.”

He still looks worried, but as they draw closer to the entrance, she’s glad to see a bit of confidence inching into his posture. Steve pulls up two minutes later, and Bucky opens the door for her, and then slides in beside her. Steve looks at their joined hands, flesh and metal entwined, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Dinner was a bit more stressful than we thought it was going to be, so we went to the park to unwind a bit,” Amelia explains vaguely. 

“Are you both okay?” Steve asks. 

“We’re fine,” Amelia answers. 

“Bucky?” Steve prompts. 

“I...lost myself...for a few minutes. I don’t remember any of it.” 

Steve’s hands clench on the steering wheel. “At the restaurant?” 

“After. In an alleyway a few blocks from the park.” 

“Was anyone hurt?” He meets Amelia’s gaze in the mirror, and she shakes her head. 

“He didn’t leave my side, Steve. A car backfired and it startled him. He just wanted to make sure that I was safe. Nothing happened.”

“I’m more worried about Bucky blacking out. How often does that happen, and why haven’t you said anything before this?” 

“You’ve seen it,” Amelia pointed out. “At the hospital. It just wasn’t this pronounced.” 

“Bucky?” 

“I didn’t-- I don’t-- I can usually control it.” 

“Until the first time you can’t, and something happens,” Steve points out. “Look, nothing happened, and that’s fine. And I know it’s not your fault, Buck. I understand, or at least I’m trying to. Sam’s going to be up here this weekend. Maybe the four of us can sit down and work something out, alright?” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah, that’s-- Thank you.” 

Amelia catches Steve’s gaze in the mirror, and gives him a grateful nod. He returns the gesture, and then turns his attention back to the road. They make it to the Tower in record time, and Steve pulls the car into the underground garage. 

“Welcome home, Miss Cassidy and Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS greets when they enter the elevator. “Sir is waiting in his private quarters. Should I tell him you’ve returned?” 

“Tell him we’ll catch up tomorrow, please, J.” 

“Affirmative. He’s going to argue,” JARVIS responds. 

“I know. Send my apologies.” 

“Understood.” 

“He really was waiting up for you?” Bucky asks, glancing warily up towards the speakers. 

“You doubted he would?” Amelia replies. “You’re lucky he didn’t meet us in the garage.” 

“He wanted to,” Steve confesses. “I talked him out of it. We were down in the labs when you called.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says simply. 

“Not a problem. Seriously, though, we need to talk to Sam. Sunday, alright? Nothing too deep; he’ll probably make some suggestions, and we’ll see where things go from there. I’m on your side, here, Buck. You know that, right?” He reaches out, and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder.

“I know.” He meets Steve’s gaze. “Thanks.” 

Steve nods, and then the elevator is stopping, and the door opens. His hand falls away as Bucky takes the desserts from Amelia, and then steps out and into the hall. Amelia hangs back a second, letting Steve fall into place beside her. Bucky glances back, and then slips into her apartment. She turns to Steve as the door closes. 

“How bad was it really?” Steve asks quietly. 

“I was worried for a moment or two,” she admits. “But it’s not like he snaps into Soldier-mode and goes off on a killing spree. He was already shaken up, and then a car backfired. That’s what did it. And all he did was get me into an alley and keep me safe until he knew there was no threat.” She pauses. “He promised to keep me safe.” 

“Bucky? Well, yeah, he--” 

“No, the Soldier.” 

Amelia sees the moment that the significance sinks in. “That’s--” 

“Yeah. I know. The difference between Bucky and the Soldier isn’t as great as he seems to think it is.” 

“The fact that he’s blacking out is what gets me. I’m just-- He’s still barely letting me in, and I still don’t know how to help. Learning that things are worse than we all thought they were, I just want him to be okay.” 

“I know, and he knows that, too.” She hesitates. “Did you want to come in?” 

Steve looks at the door, and shakes his head. “I’ll stop by in the morning. Take care of him for me, okay?”

She nods, then steps closer to slip her arms around him. He hugs her tightly, setting his cheek on the top of her head. “Don’t sit over there alone and worry. Tony’s still up, or maybe see what Nat’s up to. Call Sam. Promise me.” 

Steve nods. “I have to call Sam anyhow.” He steps back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“We’ll be here.” 

Steve starts towards his door. 

“And, Steve?” He turns back. “Thank you.” 

He nods tightly and returns to his apartment. Amelia watches the door close behind him, and then turns to enter her own apartment. 

 

***

Bucky digs out a pair of black sweatpants and a tshirt from the spare bedroom drawers, changes quickly, and then goes back out to the living room. Minutes later, Amelia joins him. “I was going to put in a movie, if you wanted to join me.” 

“Thought you were going to sing for me,” he reminds her. 

She glances over at the piano, and he can see the hesitation. “Alright,” she agrees. “Fair warning, though. I haven’t done this in while.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” 

She gives a sharp nod, and goes over to the piano. Bucky joins her on the bench. “Is this okay?” he asks, and she nods. 

Another second passes, and then she speaks. “I thought maybe-- This was my mother’s favorite. It’s from a movie that was popular when I was still really young. The song is supposed to be a duet; I’d play the piano, my dad would play the guitar, and we’d both sing.” 

“I wish I could have seen that,” Bucky says softly. 

"I kind of wish you could have, too," she responds, as her fingers begin to move across the piano keys. After a moment, she starts to sing, her voice timid and soft, but gaining strength as she moves beyond the first few words. 

_Somewhere, out there_  
_Beneath the pale moonlight_  
_Someone’s thinking of me,_  
_and loving me tonight._

The song continues, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s lost in her song, and for a moment, he thinks he can almost see the girl she used to be, unguarded and younger and free. Her voice is clear and beautiful, and he can feel the memories in the way she sings, in the way her voice cracks once or twice in the bridge. 

Silence fills the apartment after the last note dies out. She’s staring down at her hands. 

“That was amazing, doll,” he says finally, and the words feel empty and insignificant, but a little half smile crosses her lips, so he continues. “Why haven’t you played before now?” 

“I don’t, not really. Not anymore. Not…”

“Not since you lost your parents.” 

She nods. “Just isn’t the same, playing to an empty room. And before meeting Tony, I didn’t really have access to a piano anymore, so I just stopped.” 

He thinks back to the picture of her playing and singing with her family. The piano must have gotten lost along the way, just like her father’s guitar did. Something there wasn’t quite adding up, and he made a mental note to ask Tony about it sometime in the near future. He’s starting to get the feeling that there might be more to the story than she’s saying. 

“You should keep playing,” he tells her. “I never met your parents, Amelia, but I know they wouldn’t have wanted you to give it up.” 

She laughs lightly. “Well, it might be a little late to go pro, anyhow.” 

“Were you going to?” he asks, curiously.

“Nah. It was only ever just a hobby. I don’t have the personality to do this professionally; I’m no good in a spotlight.” 

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Would you play something else?” 

She glances at him, the tiniest smile on her lips. “You’re sure?” 

“Please.” 

She thinks a moment, and then starts something a bit more upbeat. She goes on to play a couple more, at his request. And then she starts playing something slower and softer and sweeter. “Another of my mom’s favorites,” she quietly informs him, as the opening notes begin to ring out in the apartment. 

_Rows and flows of angel hair_  
_and ice cream castles in the air_  
_And feather canyons everywhere_  
_I’ve looked at clouds that way_

There’s a hint of melancholy in her voice, and he gets the feeling that she’s sharing parts of herself that very few people ever get to see. He doesn’t know if it’s because he is having a rough night, so she’s trying to be more vulnerable, too, to even things out, or if she’s even making a conscious decision to share all of this, but he’s not going to do anything to risk ruining it. 

The song ends, and she turns to him. “Enough for one night, I think.”  
He nods. “Dessert, then?” he asks, already getting up to grab it from the fridge, along with a couple of forks. They sit at the kitchen island, and he picks at his while she eats hers. They watch a movie after, and then get ready for bed. 

He wakes up shaking sometime around three AM, still tangled in the the last wisps of a nightmare. Amelia stirs beside him, instinctively reaching out, arm curling around his waist. 

“Bucky?” she mumbles. 

“‘m okay, doll. Go back to sleep.” 

She pushes up, her face drawn in concern. He just shakes his head, and tugs her back down until her head is resting on his chest and he can feel the weight of her pressing against him, soothing away the demons. She mumbles another protest, but slips back into sleep, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Thoughts that she is dominating. Her body is soft and warm, and it’s laying beside her, wanting more and not being able to have it, is slowly driving him mad. What he needs is distance. His own room, his own bed. Maybe that will ease the way he needs her, in every sense. But the thought of that separation, sleeping alone, waking alone, is worse than laying at her side and being unable to ask for more than she’s already giving him. He can’t have her, but giving her up isn’t an option. 

He’s damned either way.

Before he knows it, it’s dawn, and she’s starting to wake, stretching, one leg wrapping around his in the process. It’s intimate and forbidden and familiar all at once. He’d move, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of pulling away.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice sounding gruff even to his own ears.

“Is it? Ugh.” She lifts her head a bit to look at him. “You didn’t sleep.” 

“I did a little.” And he did, for a couple hours. It’s just the four hours of chasing his thoughts after that that wore him out. 

“Not enough.” 

“Do you have to work today?”

“Nope. Kate’s taking a long weekend to go visit family upstate somewhere and the designer is finishing up everything today, too, so I’m taking the day off.”

“Can you stay?” He hates the hint of desperation in his voice, but he hates the thought of being left alone without her right now, too. 

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” she says, setting her head back down. He runs the fingers of his human hand through her hair, gently working through the morning’s tangles. Her fingers are distractedly tracing over the plates of his other hand. He watches their movement, the repetitive movement lulling him towards sleep. 

When he wakes up, Amelia is walking in with a tray of food. She smiles and shrugs. “I was hungry.” 

When the scent of the French toast hits his nose, his stomach growls, reminding him that it’s mid-morning, and he has’t had anything to eat in more than twelve hours. Amelia’s smile opens to a grin, and she sets the tray down on the bed. There are two plates of French toast, juice, fruit and yogurt, and sausage. She hands him one, sets the juices on the bedstands, and then places the tray in front of them before getting into the bed and taking her own plate. 

“Have you been awake long?” 

“Maybe an hour? I was going to wake you, but you were sleeping pretty hard. You still look tired, though.” 

So does she, he doesn’t say. Even after sleeping in this morning, she still looks more tired than she used to back in Eddisburg. She hasn’t said anything, and he’s not going to pry, but maybe if he takes the day to get some extra rest, she’ll be able to get a little extra rest in, too. 

So, when they’re done eating, she takes the dishes back out to the kitchen, and he follows. Natasha sent him a link for a website that had a lot of pictures from the 40s on it, and he wanted to look through, see if it shook anything loose. He grabs his tablet, and sits on the couch, with Amelia joining him just as the website starts to pull up. She glances over his shoulder. 

“What’d you find?” 

“Nat found this. These are all from the last few years before the war. I thought maybe--” 

“You might find something familiar?” 

He nods. “Maybe. I mean, can’t hurt, right?” He was still steadily reclaiming memories, usually little things. Once in awhile, something bigger slipped through. Amelia watched over his shoulders as he started pulling up photos. Unfortunately, as he flips through picture after picture, only a few catch his attention, and he doesn’t seem to have any specific memories of any of them. But he keeps going hoping with each new photograph that new memories will come with it.

***

Steve feels the sweat dripping down between his shoulder blades as he waits for the elevator to reach his floor. He hasn't seen Bucky since last night, and it's already going on noon. He should be up by now.

He showers quickly, and then knocks on the door across the hall. Nearly two minutes pass before it opens. Amelia stands there, wearing long pajama pants and a loose tshirt. Her hair is mussed, like she just rolled out of bed. 

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"I was up," she tells him, stepping back to let him in. Bucky is sitting on the couch, tablet in hand. He gives a little wave when Steve walks in. 

“Hey, Buck.” 

Bucky held up the tablet. “Did we ever go here?”

Steve looked closer. “Willard Hall? We went a few times. It was a little nicer there than some of the places we usually went to. We saw Tommy Dorsey there in ‘38, though.” 

Bucky looks at the tablet again, frowning slightly. “I don’t remember who that was.” 

“He was a singer. I liked his stuff more than you did, so that doesn’t surprise me.” Steve says, sitting down beside his friend. “What else do you have?” 

Bucky hesitates, and then starts going through more of the pictures, some of things he remembers and some of things he doesn’t. Steve fills in gaps where he can, keeping an eye on Bucky all the while. He looks tired, and his speech is a bit hesitant today. He’s also still in sweatpants and a soft black shirt, something that the old Bucky would never have worn, at least not outside of his bedroom. The contrast hurts, and Steve quickly stops that line of thinking. 

Bucky pauses on an image. “I know this. Steve…” 

Steve looks down and stills. On the other side of Bucky, Amelia does the same, her breath catching softly. She remembers, then.

“Kingston Ave. Hospital,” Steve says after a moment. “They had a TB ward. My ma was there for quite a while, and she worked there before that. You used to wait on a bench across the street when I went to visit her. Probably spent hours staring at that view.” 

This is the first time he’s seen a picture of the old hospital, and he can’t help the cold feeling of old grief. Caught in his own memories, he doesn’t realize Bucky is staring at him until he looks up. 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. After a moment, the look clears. “Her name was Sarah. You have her eyes.” 

Steve snorted. “Mrs. Guspety next door used to say the only thing I ever got from my father was my fine bone structure. Apparently, he had nice cheekbones.”

“I remember her, a little. Your ma, I mean. She used to sing whenever she was cleaning up. I’d forgotten that.” 

“Never was very good, though. Mr. Miller upstairs complained once or twice,” Steve recalls with a wistful smile. “Not that it ever stopped her. I have a picture in my room, if you’d like to see it.” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be-- that’d be good.” He cycles through another half dozen photographs, but none of them bring back any memories. Steve can tell by the way he pauses for a moment, and then quickly moves to the next picture, all the while the look of frustration on his face grows more intense. Finally, Steve reaches out, taking the tablet and setting it aside. 

“Enough. That’s not going to help. You’re just going to stress yourself out more.” 

“I can handle it,” Bucky protests. 

“I never said you couldn’t, Buck. I just don’t think that trying to force it is the best course of action. You need to be patient.” 

“I’ve tried that! You have no idea what it’s like to see something that you _know_ should mean something, and feeling absolutely nothing.” Bucky angrily runs a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the ends. “I just-- I want there to be something there. I want to look at these pictures, and see something that reminds me of who I’m supposed to be.” 

This is the most honest Bucky has been with him since they were reunited, and Steve still has no idea what the ‘right’ response here is. “It’ll come. But, Bucky, you are already exactly who you’re meant to be. Getting your memories back, remembering the life we had before, isn’t going to bring back the man you were way back then. And, if you never remember any of it, that’s okay, too. I’m just happy to have you back, regardless of how much you remember or don’t. You don’t have to try to pretend to be who you were. Not for me. I don’t expect that of you. And I don’t want it. I just want you, whoever you are now.” Maybe if he reassures him enough times, Bucky will start opening up to him more. 

Amelia discretely sets her hand against Bucky’s lower back, and he touches his knee to hers. Steve hesitates, and then reaches out, setting a hand on his shoulder, clasping tightly. Bucky leans into the touch. 

“I know,” Bucky responds, his voice not much louder than a whisper. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it back, though.” 

Steve nods. “I know you do. And I’ll help however I can. I just don’t think staring at those pictures is going to help. Why don’t you take a break, and we can put in a movie? Have you seen Independence Day?” 

“No. Is it any good?” 

Steve grins at Amelia. “You didn’t show him? That was one of the first movies we watched.” 

“I thought you might like to introduce him to it,” she responds with a shrug and a knowing smile. Steve nods his thanks. 

“Right. The two of you go get cleaned up, I’ll get some snacks, and we’ll meet back here in ten minutes.” As they head towards the bedrooms, Steve moves towards the kitchen to start making popcorn.

***

Her alarm goes off at 5:15 AM the next morning. She silences it before it can wake Bucky, and rolls out of bed, showers, and then makes it down to her kitchen by 5:40. By 6:00, the first two layers of cake are in the oven and she’s started work on the cupcakes. By 7:00, there are two dozen cupcakes cooling on the counter, and she’s just put the final cake layers in. While they cool, she starts on the fruit salad. 

Bucky comes down at 7:05, showered and dressed in jeans and a tshirt. He carries a button up shirt, allowing him to hide his arm from the others, but he’ll leave it off for now. “Morning. What’s all this?” 

“It’s the Fourth of July. Independence day, and-”

“Steve’s birthday,” he cuts in.

Amelia nods. “Steve’s 96th birthday. Or 27th, depending on who you ask.” She grins. “Tony throws a small party each year, up in the community room.”

“And you make the cake?” 

“And a few other things. Tony tries to cater it each year, but Steve always asks that we do it potluck style, everyone contributing.” 

“I could have helped, so you could sleep in a little longer” he protests. 

“I’m okay. I promise. Do you want to help with the frosting?” 

He looks around at the collection of dirty dishes. “Have you had breakfast yet?” 

“I haven’t had the chance. I’ll grab something once I get the last two layers from the oven.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Sit.” He sets his hands on her shoulders, directing her to the stool beside her center island. “I’ll make something.” 

He throws a load of dishes into the dishwasher first, and is still getting out the bacon from the fridge when Steve walks into the apartment and makes his way to the kitchen. “Hey, I was just about to head out for my jog, and I thought maybe you’d like to go with me,” he says, his gaze focused on Bucky. 

“I’m making breakfast. Have you eaten, or did you forget, too?” 

“I didn’t forget. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” Amelia complains. “I just wanted to get the baking done first.” 

Steve looks around. “This is all for the party?” 

“Well, mostly. I’m going to do another batch or two of cupcakes, and run them down to the science labs later. They’re working on something big, so most decided to come in today.” She stands and walks over, giving him a huge hug. “Happy birthday, Steve.” 

“Thanks.” He hugs back gently. 

“Sit down,” Bucky says, brandishing a spatula. She rolls her eyes, and does as he asks. 

“He’s right, you know. Did you sleep last night? Your arm’s not bothering you, is it?” 

“It’s still a little tight feeling, and I won’t be climbing mountains anytime soon, but I’m fine to make cake. Stop worrying, both of you.” 

Steve looks up to Bucky and gives him a shy little half smile. “I could skip the run this morning, and use the treadmills later, if you wouldn’t mind making breakfast for one more.” 

“No, that’s fine. There’s another pack of bacon in the fridge, if you want to grab it.” Bucky could feel Amelia’s gaze, and glanced over, seeing her small smile. “So, tell me about this party.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “My first year awake, Tony and Amelia planned this quiet little get-together, just the team. It was only a couple months after I woke up. It turned into a bonding experience. Up until that point, we’d only ever seen each other during that first battle. Everyone met here to watch the fireworks that the city puts on every year. Amelia made a cake and there was a sundae bar. Are we doing that again this year?” 

Amelia nods. “And pizza from that place downtown.” 

“And maybe pasta salad?” Bucky offers. 

Steve grins. “Just like being home again.” 

Bucky glances around them, and lifts an eyebrow. 

“Okay, not exactly like being home again. But you’re here, and that’s close enough for me.” 

Amelia turns away, giving them their moment as she pulls a juicer out from one of the cabinets. By the time she has a small pitcher of juice ready, the boys are carrying pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast over to the table. Steve starts telling stories about birthdays past, and Bucky is commenting where he remembers, and it’s good to see. 

“So, are Tony’s parties anything like his father’s?” Bucky asks, as they start clearing the dishes. 

Steve blows out his breath. “I heard they used to be worse, actually. But this one is always just us, the team and friends.” 

***

Bucky sits down with his laptop and pulls out his credit card. Steve doesn’t need him for much anymore. It’s not like he can protect him from back alley bullies, or sit with him through an all-night fever, or watch his back in field. 

Not yet, anyhow. 

But maybe there was something he could still do. And, really, as far as Bucky was concerned, there were no other options. Only one gift would do.

He doesn’t really remember how they used to spend his birthday, but he remembers being broke most of the time, so he’s guessing that it was nothing like how they will be celebrating tonight. But even if it won’t be the same as it used to be, it feels good, knowing that he’ll be there for it this year. 

***

There was a knock on Steve’s door at exactly 6:20. 

“It’s open!” he shouts out from the bedroom. 

“I got it. Go back to primping,” Sam calls back. He hears the door opening, and the sounds of Sam greeting Bucky and Amelia. Bucky, who had been over to his own room in the apartment just long enough to shower after their workout and grab a change of clothes before returning to Amelia’s. 

What was supposed to be just a run on the treadmill turned into sparring and making use of Tony’s training room, a half-parkour course/half computer simulation program that Tony prepared. Steve left the virtual training program off, but pulled a couple of Nerf guns from his locker (Barton had introduced the team to Nerf wars the year before), and tossed one to Bucky. The other man took a couple practice shots, swiped more ammo, and took off across the room. 

And promptly disappeared. 

It wasn’t until Steve was climbing to higher ground behind one of the obstacles, and took a foam dart to the forehead, that he could even spot the ex-assassin. He’d made it into Clint’s nest, but…

“You know, you shouldn’t be able to hit me from up there. That gun’s range is only about fifty feet, even after I modded it.” 

Steve can practically hear the shrug in Bucky’s voice. “I fixed it,” he called back. 

Well. There was that. Bucky was the first to hit 15 points, and by then, it was time to get cleaned up and ready for the party. 

They make their way up to the community room together, and Steve is a little surprised by the crowd. Natasha, Tony, and Pepper are there, but so are Rhodey, Thor, and Clint, who looks tired and a bit worse for the wear after his recent solo mission. Maria Hill is also there (Bucky notices first, tensing beside him), along with Jane and Darcy. And they all start clapping as he walks in the door. 

And, as much as he should be used to being in the center of attention, he still feels heat traveling up the back of his neck and across his cheeks, but he doesn’t even try to hide his smile. 

Two years and three months ago, he woke up in a mocked-up version of a New York hospital room. Less than ten minutes later, he learned that his whole world, everything and everyone he knew, was gone. Lost in a time period he could never return to. That night, sitting in a secured room in a special government housing facility, he’d never felt so alone. He spent two weeks going through the motions and trying not to feel. 

And then Fury showed up at the boxing ring, and threw him back into the world, one full of superheroes and aliens. A ragtag team of explosive personalities, most with little to no training, and he was put in charge. And at first, all he could do was focus on the differences, all of the ways his new team couldn’t measure up to the team he lost. 

But then, little by little, they became a team. They quit fighting each other, and started fighting _for_ each other. And his life hasn’t been the same since. Now, just over two years later, he’s standing amongst the people who have become so much more than just team members. They’re friends. Family. 

And now, with Bucky back at his side, he’s still never going to forget his life before, and those losses will always hurt, but it feels like, for the first time in a really long time, he’s standing on solid ground. He looks over, and Bucky catches his eye, a small smile tugging at his lips, and Steve can’t help the grin that cracks across his face. 

Finally. He’s home. 

The applause stops, and they fill their plates and find a spot around the table. Bucky sits to his left, Sam to the right. Talk around the table is cheerful, and he takes a lot of ribbing about his advancing age (no matter that Bucky is older than him, or that he’s technically the youngest member of the team). 

After dinner, JARVIS starts up a collection of his favorite songs, a playlist that spans a hundred years, and Natasha starts mixing drinks. Sam, Bucky, and Clint are sitting on a couple of couches, and Bucky looks almost relaxed. Tony and Amelia are off to the side, animatedly talking about something or another. 

Thor walks up, setting a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Captain, congratulations on another year of health.” 

“Thanks, Thor. Everything good back home?” 

“Asgard thrives under my father’s care. And it is good to see things doing so well here, too. Your friend Barnes has made great improvements since I last spoke to him. You must be glad to have him home.” 

“I’m just glad that we’re all under the same roof, and that things have been quiet lately.” 

Jane and Darcy walk over, Jane immediately stealing Thor’s attention, while Darcy slid over and handed Steve a drink. “You aren’t going to get the full effect, but I promise, it’s still good.” Steve accepts it, and she holds her glass out, bumping it against his. 

“Happy birthday, Steve.” 

They both take a drink, and he has to admit, the drink isn’t bad. A bit fruitier than his usual preference, but not too sweet. 

“So, grandpa, have any words of wisdom for the kids in the crowd?” She asks, smirking up at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “We both know you wouldn’t listen to my words of wisdom anyhow,” he replies, trying not to smile. Darcy, even though she spent most of her time chasing Jane across the globe, always made time to seek Steve out whenever they were in the same city, dragging him out to do something normal, or just inviting herself over to use his television whenever Jane and Thor were otherwise occupied. 

“Hey, I’m home for a few days, and I have a whole season of New Girl to catch up on. Are you free Monday?” 

“I should be around at least for a few hours.” 

“Awesomesauce. I’ll bring cupcakes. Will your friend be there?” Darcy asks, glancing over to where Bucky is standing. 

“He might be. Have you met him yet?” 

“Are you offering?” 

He shakes his head at her eager expression. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. Just...go easy on him, Darcy.” 

She waves a hand. “I promise not to jump your friend.” 

Probably as good as he was going to get, so he led the way down to where Bucky still sat with Sam and Clint. He catches Steve’s gaze, and stands, meeting them halfway. 

“Bucky, this is Darcy Lewis. She works with Jane, Thor’s gal. Darcy, meet Bucky.” 

“Wow. The history books did not do you credit,” Darcy says, holding out her hand.

Bucky takes it. “Uh, thanks.” 

Darcy lets go of his hand. “I mean, I remember a handful of the girls in my history class actively mourning you when we covered World War II. Of course, half of them imagined that you and Steve-o here had this tragic love affair, and--” 

Steve steps in, cutting her off. “Okay, Darcy. That’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. But the fictional accounts of his and Bucky’s love life wasn’t something that he’d had a chance to explain to Bucky quite yet. It made a good story, he supposed, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Sorry,” Darcy replies. Bucky is just staring at her. “Right, well, this is awkward. I’m going to go over there,” she points. “And try to keep my feet out of my mouth.” 

The brunette moves across the room, and Steve turns back to find Bucky’s eyes on him. “I don’t want to know,” Bucky says. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever.” He looks more shocked than upset, so Steve just shakes his head. 

“People love a good story, true or not. That’s never changed.” 

“Guess not.”

***

Bucky feels the envelop in his pocket, and rubs his hand nervously across it. There’s a small pile of gifts over in one corner, but he doesn’t want to just set it there. It wasn’t even anything big enough to wrap, and suddenly he’s not sure that he made the right call. 

“Umm.”

Steve looks up expectantly as Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wrinkled envelope, smiling with barely-banked curiosity when Bucky holds it out. “I got you something.” 

“Bucky, you really didn’t need to get me anything.” But he accepts the gift.

Bucky rubs at the back of his neck, and shifts his feet around. “Just open it.” 

Steve lifts the flap, and pulls out the three pieces of paper. He stares for a moment, eyes moving over the printed words, and then his eyes go wide.

“Bucky, these…These are tickets for Coney Island.”

Bucky scoffs. “I know what they are.”

“Are you sure? I mean, if you’re not ready...” Bucky sees the concern in his expression.Admittedly, it’s not uncalled for, especially not after everything the other night.

“Amelia called for me. They aren’t as busy on Tuesdays, and you’ll both be with me. I thought, maybe.. Well--” 

Steve nods, and his eyes are a bit watery. “Thank you. Bucky.” He studies Bucky’s face, as if trying to find answers written across it. His expression is hesitant and hopeful, and Bucky waits a moment for him to speak, but he doesn’t. 

“Just spit it out, Rogers.” 

“Is it okay if I hug you?” 

Bucky shakes his head, stepping in and pulling Steve in tight. “Punk.”

Steve laughs wetly into his shoulder. “Jerk. Thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift. I haven’t gone since the last time we went. Just wasn’t going to be the same without you.” 

“Amelia told me. And I know she’s never been. Thought maybe we could show her how we used to have a good time.” 

Bucky steps back, and pulls his camera from his pocket, then hands it to Sam as he walks past. “Would you mind…?” 

“Not at all, man. Say cheese.” 

Bucky puts his arm over Steve’s shoulder, the same as the Captain is doing to him, and they both smile into the camera. Sam takes a couple quick shots, and then hands it back. Bucky looks down at the viewing screen, angling it a bit so Steve can see it over his shoulder. 

“Not bad,” Steve comments. He squeezes Bucky’s shoulders one last time before stepping back, a bit of a goofy grin still playing on his lips. “Thanks, Buck. Really.” 

His gratitude is a bit uncomfortable to bear, but Bucky smiles. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get through the night, first.” 

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine.” 

“Hey, Cap!” Clint calls out from across the room. “Are you going to cut the cake, or not?” 

Steve gives Bucky a long-suffering look, and then starts across the room towards the cake table. He stops a few feet away, and stares at the layered spectacle sitting there. Bucky glances over, an amused smirk on his face. He’d been watching Tony and Clint work while Steve’s back was turned, and the cake is lit up like a forest fire. He doesn’t really want to count, but he’s pretty sure there are 96 candles on there. The look on Steve’s face is priceless, something caught between glee and absolute horror. 

“Wait until you see what Tony has planned for his centennial party,” Amelia says, slipping up beside him. “Although, you’re older than him by a year, right? Hmm.” 

“I don’t think you could fit any more candles on one cake without it being a fire hazard, doll.” 

She laughs. “So, the tickets were a success?” 

“So far.” 

She elbows him lightly in the side. “It’s going to be great. Stop worrying.” 

They sing Happy Birthday, and Steve blushes again under the attention, but it’s a pleased blush instead of an embarrassed one. Bucky watches him interact with his friends and teammates as he hands around the cake, watching the good natured ribbing The sky around them is fading from orange to navy blue, with the city lights sparkling below the Tower. Someone mentions fireworks, and they all begin to gather near the windows. Steve goes over to stand beside Bucky, and it’s just like when they were kids, going downtown with Steve’s Ma for the annual fireworks display. Except, now, the view is a lot better. Steve’s friends, some that he would maybe consider friends, too, surround them. 

The first firework goes goes off, silently exploding in the air. He glances at Amelia, and she must see his confusion, because she leans in closer. 

“Soundproof windows. Half of us get a little jumpy around fireworks. This way, everyone can enjoy them.” 

“The first year was a little rough,” Steve confides. “I wasn’t prepared for it; never occurred to me that something we used to enjoy would leave me trying to hide behind a tree.” 

“Yeah, that was a fun phone call to get,” Tony adds in. He sounds put out, but Bucky doesn’t miss the genuine care showing on his face. “ _’Oh, no, Tony. We’re going to watch the show from Central Park. Nothing will go wrong…’_ We had these windows installed the next week.” 

Steve shakes his head, and they all fall silent as the next few fireworks go off. Bucky curls his fingers around Amelia’s, and squeezes lightly. Her head comes to rest against his shoulder, and they stay that way, side by side, as the last of the fireworks die out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you managed to get through all of that, thank you. You deserve a cookie. Or an extra piece of Halloween candy. 
> 
> If you haven't already checked out the second work in this series (Broken Chances: The Rest of the Story), I do have the first flashback up (the second half of When Steve met Amy), and I'm working on a short Halloween-themed chapter for that work, and I'll be posting that on Saturday. Tony decides to drag Steve and Amy out to a haunted house for Steve's first present-day Halloween. What could possibly go wrong?


	22. Of Therapists and Missions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDITED:** ...because somehow the last three pages didn't copy over when I went to publish this the first time. Sorry, guys. It should be all the same until you get to the last third of it. 
> 
> ***
> 
> *Hangs head in shame* Guys, I am so, so sorry. I don't even have a particularly good excuse for the long wait. I participated in NaNoWriMo (which had its own set of challenges), and then by the time I worked past that to this, I just couldn't seem to get things moving again. I have a longer explanation at the bottom, if anyone cares to read it, but I am still writing. I don't know if I can stick to the weekly schedule (more on that below, too), but even if there's a bit of a gap, I am not going to give up on this story. I have a couple months (in the story) where I am writing 95% of it, and then from there until almost the end, I have 50% of everything written.  
> ________
> 
> This is short, by my standards. I should have another chapter up within the next week or two. Thank you all so much for being patient with me, and for the comments, kudos, and likes while I was absent. They meant so much to me, and I will try to respond to everything as soon as I am able to. 
> 
> Just to catch everyone up real quick-- Bucky takes Amelia out for dinner, but it doesn't go as planned, and he ends up having a Soldier moment a few blocks outside of Central Park. Steve gets Bucky to agree to meeting with Sam the next time he's in town (that weekend). That same weekend, the Avengers throw Steve a birthday party, and Bucky presents Steve with three tickets to Coney Island.

Bucky sits across from Sam, picking at his nails, hair dropping to cover his face, as the other man watches on. After the success of last night’s party, he’d nearly forgotten that this was waiting for him today. They’ve been sitting here for the last half hour now, small talk falling away to a discussion about his failed night out. 

The skin beside one nail starts to bleed. He leaves it alone, pressing his hands palm down against his pants to stop fidgeting. 

“I know this isn’t a comfortable discussion to have, but I think we’ll all feel better once we have a plan for our next steps.”

Bucky nods, still not looking up. He can accept that this is a good idea. He just doesn’t know if it’s a good idea for him. He can barely talk about any of this with his friends. How is he supposed to talk about it with a stranger? Especially one who is sitting there taking notes. His heart speeds up a bit at the thought, and he swallows. 

Amelia sits beside him, her knee resting against his. Steve sits in the chair to his right, watching expectantly. He bites back a sigh and looks up. “I want to get better. I _am_ getting better.” It’s true. The setback during his and Amelia’s night out was frustrating, but it wasn’t a sign that he was never going to heal. Logically, he knew that. 

“You are,” Sam agrees. “I think talking to someone else could help you get better faster. If nothing else, you’d learn coping techniques, things to try if you start to feel like you’re having a bad day. Look, I think Maria was right, about this part anyhow. You can’t keep everything locked away. Having someone to talk to, someone who knows how to help you work through some of this, is going to make it a lot easier to work through some of your memories.” 

Bucky considers this. 

“You don’t have to make up your mind right now,” Sam reminds him. Bucky lets his gaze drift to Steve. The blond-haired man meets his gaze, nodding his agreeance with Sam’s words. 

“We just want to make it easier for you to continue your recovery, but ultimately, this is all up to you,” Sam continues.

Amelia turns to him, and he glances over. “We’re with you either way, though, alright?” 

He takes her hand, holding it tightly and drawing on her strength. He turns back to Sam, and jerks his head in a sharp nod. “I want to try.” 

Sam grins at him. “Good for you. I put out some feelers back before we knew where you were, and I have a list of four specialists. With your permission, Steve and I could interview them, feel them out a bit for you, and then come back to you with our opinions?” 

Bucky nods. His heart is pounding uncomfortably, but this feels like the right decision. He’s scared, but he’s ready, too. 

“Now, Steve said that you are all going to Coney Island. Do you have a day set for that?” 

“Next week?” Bucky suggests, looking over to Steve. 

“As long as nothing comes up, my schedule is clear.”

“Pretty sure my boss will give me the afternoon off,” Amelia jokes. 

“Alright. The next thing-- Have you thought about going out between now and then, just the three of you, as kind of a trial run?” At their lack of response, Sam surges ahead. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Pizza and a movie, or maybe a museum. Just spend a few hours out in the city together, see how things go.” 

Bucky shrugs, trying to cast of the anxiety at the thought of another break in public. “Sure. I’m up for whatever.” 

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks. 

“I- I don’t know. Whatever you want is fine.” 

“Why don’t we sit down and plan it out, alright?” Steve suggests. 

Sam gives a nod of encouragement. “Good. That’s great progress. Now, I have to start packing. Bucky, you have my number. If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you just have to call or text, got it?” 

Bucky nods. “Thanks.” 

“Not a problem.” He disappears into the spare room. 

***

Steve watched Bucky and Amelia work together as they cooked dinner, a practiced dance between two people who had familiar with each other that movements flowed like water. He hands her the knife she needs. She slides out of the way moments before he turns to stir something on the stovetop. And watching them from where he sits at the island, he’s almost positive that they have no idea that they’re doing it. Bucky used to fight like this, always aware and one step ahead. 

Steve has never seen it like this, though. He’s seen the way they move and react around each other on a regular basis. She takes a step back, and Bucky takes a step closer, keeping himself between her and any potential threats (threats meaning anyone he doesn’t know well, or an unfamiliar room, or an open doorway, or any of the other numerous situations). Meanwhile, she stays in his line of sight, constantly within reach, and regularly reaching out herself. A soft touch on his arm, knees touching when they sit, taking his hand. Even when they’re not right next to each other, Steve’s watched the way they both look over to the other every few minutes, eyes meeting briefly before they go back to what they were doing. 

Thing is, he doesn’t know what to think about any of it. He thought that maybe the kiss would change things. Maybe they’d both be a bit more open about their feelings, but after a week or two of awkwardness, it was like it never happened. Bucky still sleeps in her room every night, but Sam said that it was just because he felt safer with her, and safer being where he could protect her. 

Bucky pulls the lasagna from the oven as Amelia tosses the last of the cucumbers into the salad. Steve grabs the garlic bread, already sliced, and sets it on the island. 

“This looks great, Buck.” 

“It’s easy,” he responds with a shrug. Amelia glances over, a frown flitting across her features. 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve credit for making it.” He pauses. “We think there’s a HYDRA cell in Boston.” Steve says the words carefully, monitoring Bucky’s reaction. Sam thought a few easy missions might help Bucky’s recovery, or at least help him to feel a little closer to normal again. More like a useful member of society, and less like--well. Less like a recovering amnesiac with personality problems. When Tony called Steve up to the labs with the news of the HYDRA cell, Steve asked everyone then if they’d be comfortable with Bucky joining them. 

They all immediately agreed. All that was left was running the idea past Bucky. 

The other man looks up at Steve, face carefully blank. “Is that so?” 

“I talked to the others earlier. Thought maybe you’d like to go with us to take care of them.” 

Bucky’s eyes lit up, but it was a tempered glow. Wary and cautious, even in this. “You mean that? And the others are willing to let me come?” 

“The rest of the team is excited to have you aboard. We’re going to bring you into our training in the morning, just to see what you can do, briefing after lunch, and then we’ll head down tomorrow evening.” 

Bucky nods, and then glances over to Amelia. “Did you know about this?” 

“No, but if you want to do this, I think you should.” 

He gives her a little smile, but his eyes nearly sparkle. 

“Is that a yes, then?” Steve asks. 

Bucky nods, the smile growing. “Yes. Count me in.” 

***

As soon as dinner is cleaned up, Steve excuses himself to finalize a few things for the mission. Bucky dries off the counter, hangs the towel back up, and then turns around. Amelia is leaning against the doorway, watching him. 

“You okay, doll?” 

She blinks, and shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, sorry.”

He walks over, stopping in front of her. “Amelia…” 

“Not even three months ago, you were shaking in my doorway. And now, look how far you’ve come. I’m really proud of you, Bucky.” 

He feels a blush burn up his neck and his eyes grow wet. He blinks hard. “Wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” 

“Nah, you would have figured it out. Still glad you picked me, though.”

He tugs her over to him. “Me, too.” 

She slips one hand around his back, and he leads her towards the living room, settling her into the couch, and then sitting beside her, tucking her against his side. “You’re worried.” 

“I should be used to this. I’ve watched Steve and Tony go out often enough, and this doesn’t sound like a bad one. I know you’ll all be okay.” 

“And I’ll call or text the moment it’s over. Promise.” 

She nods. “Just don’t do anything too reckless.” 

His lips tilt up in a smile. “Who, me? I think you’re thinking of Stevie, there, doll. It’s our fearless leader that you need to worry about.” 

Amelia snorts. “I do.” 

“They won’t be bringing me in on any big missions, not yet. I’m still too much of a risk, and they’re right. I don’t know how I’m going to react when people start shooting at me.” 

“I think the counseling will probably help with that, too. You’ve got this.” 

He presses his lips against the top of her head, and then fights back a yawn. “Sorry. Long day.” 

“It’s fine. I’m tired, too. Meet you in there?”

Bucky nods, and steps back, making his way to the bathroom off the guest room. He grabs a set of pajamas on his way, quickly changing and cleaning up before heading to Amelia’s room. 

She’s still in the bathroom; he can hear the sound of running water. He pulls back the covers and slips inside. He likes the way that his scent lingers with hers on the pillows. He likes the way she sleeps beside him like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like there’s no safer place than by his side. 

The thing is, he’s getting a new memory or two every day, sometimes more. And while he still doesn’t remember what it was like to be Bucky Barnes, the boy from Brooklyn, he remembers enough to think that, maybe, he used to know his way around women. And he remembers enough to know that the kid he used to be wouldn’t have been okay with some of the things the man he is now has no problems with. Amelia falls into that category. 

His ma woulda had plenty to say about sleeping with a woman without marrying her first. Even more about moving in together (which, let's face it, when you’re spending every night in her apartment instead of in your own bed? You may as well call it what it is.). He’s made Amelia no promises. He can’t.

Bucky-the kid from Brooklyn-would have brought Amelia to the pictures and then split a milkshake with her over at Delaney’s department store a few blocks from the theater. He woulda brought her flowers (probably swiped from the park), and taken her dancing. And he woulda held her hand as they walked through town together, letting everyone know that she was his girl, and that he was the luckiest man in the world for it. 

The new him, the wrecked combination of the kid, the Howling Commando, and whatever HYDRA made him, doesn’t have flowers to give. And he can’t take her to the pictures without worrying about something triggering him, and setting the Soldier free. All he can do is curl up beside her at night, letting her presence soothe away the nightmares and help him sleep. He has nothing to offer, not yet, and maybe she won’t even want him once he has more to give. Any normal gal would have run by now. 

The bathroom door opens, and she stands there, wearing a tank top and long gray yoga pants. Her hair falls around her shoulders, highlighted by the light shining behind her. She notices his gaze, and her lips tug into a smile as she turns off the light and walks over with just the nightlight to guide her way. He pulls the covers aside for her, and she slips in beside him. He covers them both up again, and she slides closer to him. 

Any other gal would have run. 

Amelia turns towards him, setting her hand over his heart, and he places his hand over hers, tucking long fingers around her palm. 

“Big day,” she says, her voice thick with impending sleep. “You okay with everything?” 

“Long as I got you beside me, doll.” He shrugs, but he can feel the tightness in the movement. “I mean, I’ve looked into it. Seems like half the country is in therapy for one thing or another. How bad can it be, right?” 

“The anticipation is worse than the actual appointments,” she responds quietly.

She’s speaking from experience, Bucky realizes. He turns onto his side to face her. “After your parents died?” 

“Yeah. I was kind of a mess for a while. And then a couple times since then.” She briefly meets his eyes before her gaze quickly drops to their still-entwined hands. He knows that this isn’t easy for her. Talking about her life _before_ never is. He squeezes her hand lightly.

“Did it help?” 

She nods, meeting his gaze again. “Yeah. It did. Scary as hell, and it hurt more often than not, but it helped. And they got better, easier, after a few appointments.” 

Even in the dim lighting, he can see the way she fights to keep the emotion from her face. Trying so hard to hide her pain, and he wonders when she learned to do that. Was it with the loss of her family, or something that happened after? 

He wants to tell her than he would have been there, if he could have been. If he could have known her then, if he could have found a way to her side, he would have been there. But there aren’t words for that, so instead he lifts her hand and presses it to his lips. “Thank you.”

Amelia gives him a sleepy smile. “Go to sleep, Bucky. You have a big day tomorrow.” 

He tugs her over, and starts to wrap his prosthetic around her waist, but stops when he catches the gleam of metal, pulling back. She reaches out and grabs his arm, putting it back into position around her, and turning so her back is to his chest. He curls himself around her, and with her warmth at his chest, slips into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer explanation.... 
> 
> My NaNoWriMo novel last year was set in France during WWII. My two main male characters were German and French, respectively. I tried for the first week to write both my novel and stuff for Broken Chances, and it was almost impossible. Writing Bucky and Steve was easy. Dropping the Brooklyn accent for my European characters was not. It started bleeding in, and so I finally set Broken Chances aside until I was through the first draft. I hit my 50k on time, and wrote more into the first two weeks of December. I tried then to finish the Halloween one-shot (I am two scenes from done, and entirely stuck on it), and I tried to put together a Christmas one-shot (Steve's first Christmas awake, where I have so much more than two scenes left to write). After the holidays, I went back and reread everything, and started to put together the next chapter. This is the first part of that. 
> 
> My first novel (an American --not Marvel-- Civil War story) is set for self-published release this summer. I am in editing hell, but the good news is that I'm not writing anything besides Broken Chances at the moment. So, updates might be slow (between the editing and work), but they will be coming.


	23. Welcome to the Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you begin reading-- If you read the last chapter before yesterday, you missed the last few pages. Copy and paste was too much of a challenge for me or something, and I forgot to add the last third of the chapter. Go read that, and come right back. :) 
> 
> Thank you all for the warm welcome back. This was ready early, so I thought I'd put it up early. The second part of the chapter is 100% ready to go, and will be up on Friday. (Sorry.) 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> As always, I only own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

Natasha and Steve go after Bucky together, and then Tony and Thor join in. Clint takes up his position as Bucky’s ally in the fight. It’s the fifth round, with partners switching each time, testing Bucky’s strengths, analyzing weaknesses, and getting him to trust and accept the others as team members out on the field. Bruce is sitting out the training, as he always does, probably up in his labs somewhere.

Tony is holding Bucky down with an armored knee on his chest and his arm pressed back to the mats while Natasha holds his legs. Barton is busy with Thor, and can’t help. Steve steps back, monitoring the situation.

Amelia leans over the railing that surrounds the upper level, watching them fight. She’s watched sparring sessions before, but this was Bucky’s first time in the group setting. It took him a couple minutes to warm up, and a few more past that to accept that he wasn’t hurting anyone by doing more than defending himself (and just barely, at that). But three hours in, he was confidently holding his own and then some. He was a part of the team, trading barbs with the others, watching his current partner’s back and letting them watch his. Once in awhile, he’d glance up to her, giving her a quick nod or wink before diving back into the exercise. 

It was like he belonged there. 

Stuck beneath Tony and unable to move, she sees the first hint of panic in his eyes, and her hands curl tight around the railing. Steve takes a step forward, but before he can intervene, Bucky surges upwards, dislodging both and coming to his feet. She grips the railing harder to keep from cheering, and she sees the same feeling of pride in Steve’s watchful gaze. 

Steve finally calls an end to everything, sending the team to the showers while Jarvis orders lunch. Bucky bypasses the locker room, taking the stairs to the observation area instead. 

“How’d I do?” he asks, coming up beside her. He’s sweaty, and she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hair clings to his face where it’s fallen free of his hair tie. 

She laughs. “You’re a natural. How do you think you did?” 

He shrugs. “It felt good, being a part of things again. And I didn’t lose myself. Hopefully, that means I can control it in the field, too. You’re eating lunch with us?” 

“I’ll be there. Go shower.” 

“Are you saying that I smell?” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face. 

She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say anything. But, seriously, they aren’t going to save food for you. Shower and get up there or go hungry.” 

He tosses her a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll meet you up there.”

***

Hot water rinses soap and sweat from his body as Bucky experimentally turns and stretches in the shower. He’s sore. Even with the regular training with Steve, it’s been awhile since he got that level of sparring in. His bruises and damaged muscle will heal and he’ll be fine long before that evening’s mission. 

The training went better than expected. Everyone was a little wary, getting started, and Bucky was more anxious about it than he was trying to let on. He needed to get out. He needed to start taking on HYDRA. This was his chance, and he didn’t want to mess it up. 

He knows that Amelia was there on Steve’s request, just in case he slipped and the Soldier tried to take on the team. Bucky hates the idea of Amelia approaching him when he’s like that. The idea terrifies him. The Soldier has a lot of blood on his hands. But he can acknowledge that she’s likely the only one the Soldier will let near if he’s worked up.

He quickly dries off and dresses, leaving his hair down to dry. It’s getting long again, but he likes it. A few minutes later, he’s walking into the communal dining area. Steve looks up as he walks in, and gestures for him to come over. Stark is standing beside him, tablet in hand. 

“So, Frosty, if you’re joining us, you’re going to need gear. Do you have a color preference, because Steve said that--” 

“I have my own.” 

“The stuff HYDRA made you wear? I can do better. Maybe not for today, but by the next time you go out, we can have you outfitted. Jarvis? Get me a scan of Barnes, and send his measurements to the database.” 

Bucky glances to Steve in disbelief, but Steve just shrugs. “It was his idea, but I thought you might like to wear something that wasn’t HYDRA-issue.” 

“Black. No spandex.” Honestly, he’s grateful for the gesture, but there’s no way he’s leaving the Tower looking like Steve.

“Right. Give me three days.” Stark wanders off, still messing with his tablet. 

“You might not have wanted to give him that much creative license,” Steve comments. 

“I’ll have Amelia approve before he starts making it.” 

Steve nods, and sets a hand on his shoulder. “You did good this morning. Are you still ready for everything this evening? No second thoughts?” 

Bucky returns the gesture, his own arm coming up. “I’m good. Ready to do more than just sit around.” 

“Amelia won’t be there. If you start to slip--” 

“I’ll let someone know, and get off the field.” 

“We’re putting Amelia on comms,” Natasha says, walking over. “Just in case.” 

Steve blinks and lets his arm fall. “Does she know that?” 

“She will at the briefing. You can’t deny that it’s a good idea, unless you’d rather bring her with us. We thought the comms were safer, though.” 

Bucky turns his gaze back to Steve. “She’s right. We can’t bring her with us, but I’d feel better knowing she’s there if I need her.” 

Steve looks to Bucky, and then back to Natasha. “It’s...not a bad idea. She has to agree to it, though. And she’s on mute unless she’s needed.” 

“Of course.” 

As soon as Natasha leaves, Bucky looks across the room to where Amelia is talking with Clint and Thor. “Has she ever been on the comms before?” 

“Nope. But she’s there just for you. Jarvis runs the comms during missions, and he’ll patch her in if you need her.” 

Bucky nods tightly. Amelia laughs at something the archer said, and her eyes meet his for a moment. She smiles at him, and he can’t help but to return it.

Lunch is delivered, and he takes the seat beside her. Tony is on her other side, and Steve is on his. She keeps peeking over at him, and he can tell that she’s still worried. He’s not used to it. The Winter Soldier had no one to care if he made it back from his missions; he was nothing more than a weapon. Before… His family was waiting at home, but so many other boys were giving their lives, it didn’t ever feel like a huge loss if he did the same. And when he signed up with Steve, with the Commandos, he never really expected to make it. A half dozen men against all of HYDRA? He knew the risks. He was thankful, then, to not have anyone waiting back home to leave behind. Wouldn’t have been fair to her. 

Amelia cares enough to worry, and he’s not quite sure what to do with that. This--the reality of his life--is something he can’t protect her from. He’s a soldier, and he has to finish this thing with HYDRA, especially after they made her a target. He sets his left hand on Amelia’s leg, She reaches across with her own left hand and entwines their fingers. Steve glances over once, but never says a word.

“They want you to sit in at the briefing,” he tells her in a quiet voice. 

Amelia gives him a questioning glance but nods. As soon as the meal is done, they all walk together to the conference room. Jarvis already has the schematics of the facility up waiting for them. 

This is his first time in the briefing room. It’s about what he’d expect. Durable tablets in even more durable cases waiting at each place on the table, and a huge holographic projector in the middle. The table itself is round, no doubt Steve’s doing. He loved Camelot as a kid. That the boy who dreamed of being King Arthur grew up to be Captain America was no surprise to Bucky. 

Tony starts, going over all of the available data before Steve takes over, assigning each team member their tasks. They’re going in groups, Stark and Thor, Natasha and Barton, and him and Steve. One entry point, three paths through the facility to clear any HYDRA operatives before converging in the main control room. Gather any information they could get their hands on, and set the charges, and get out before the place crashes down around them. 

Quick and easy. Nothing he hadn’t done dozens of times before with the Commandos. 

“Jarvis will have comms,” Steve continues, and then his gaze falls to Amelia. “We need you on standby, just in case we need you. Jarvis will patch you in if Bucky shows any signs of distress.” 

Amelia opens her mouth, and Steve continues. “If you’re comfortable with that.” 

“Yeah, no, that’s fine.” 

“Good. If that’s settled, take some time, and meet back here at 5:00. Wheels up at 5:30.” 

Bucky leans in towards Amelia. “Thanks.” 

“Not a problem.” 

“Amelia, with me,” Steve says, walking around to them. “I’ll show you where you’ll be setting up.” 

Bucky stands up beside her, his hand settling on her back as they both follow Steve up to a different level. The door to the room opens at their approach, and Bucky walks in to see a small control center. Steve pulls a headset from a drawer and hands it to Amelia.

“This is yours. Left button is mute, right button is the override if you need to get through to any of us.” He turns to the control panel. “Use this to scroll through views manually, or Jarvis can get you the video feed you need. I just want you to worry about Bucky, alright? It usually sounds more exciting on the comms than it is in real life. We’ll be fine. He’s your only priority.” 

Steve walks her through the different types of feeds, explains the rest of the controls, and has her go through a few of the steps herself before he’s satisfied. 

“You’re ready,” he declares, clapping her on the back. “I’ll check in again before we land, just to make sure the comms work.” He turns to Bucky. “You have two hours, alright?”

***

They end up on Amelia’s couch. Amelia tucks herself against his side while the television plays some sitcom neither of them are paying attention to. He’s distractedly moving his fingers along her back, the only movement he’s making. His uniform is set out in the kitchen, weapons lined up across the table. Seeing him laying it all out was uncomfortable for her, but the effect it had on Bucky was worse. As soon as he pulled out his bag of gear, he went silent. Hadn’t spoken a word since, hadn’t made any movements that weren’t strictly necessary except for the twitching fingers. 

She’s about two seconds from finding Steve and calling the whole thing off. She would have already, except when she looks at him, it’s still Bucky, and not the Soldier. So, she wraps her arms around his waist and leans into him. 

“Bucky, talk to me,” she requests after several more minutes tick by. She looks up at his face to find him already watching her. 

“Sorry. I just-- I’d forgotten this part of it. The prep time, leading up to a mission--” He tenses, reliving some memory, and Amelia shifts until she is in his field of view. 

“Bucky, look at me.” He does. “Are you okay to do this?” 

He nods. “I think it’s just the waiting.” He gives her a bitter smile. “Too much time to think.” 

“Alright. Come on, then.” She stands, and reaches for his hand, tugging him to his feet. He gives her an indulgent look as he stands, but follows patiently behind her as she leads him to the elevator. When the doors open again, they’re standing at a stone pathway along a rooftop garden. “This is Bruce’s pet project,” Amelia explains, as she leads him out of the elevator. There’s a water fountain, and the fragrant smell of flowers on the breeze. The sun is warm, and still high in the sky. 

She turns around to face Bucky. “What do you think?” 

“This has been up here the whole time?” She nods. “Is Bruce going to mind that we’re up here?” 

“Not unless you trample one of his rare specimens. Just stay on the path and you’ll be fine.” 

She lets him take the lead, still holding his hand as he explores. He stops beside some blue flowers, bending down to get a closer look. “My mom would have loved these,” he said, running a finger over the soft petals. 

“She had a garden?” 

“There was a park near our home that leased small plots. She could grow just about anything. Most of the space went to vegetables, but she’s always save a bit of it for flowers. And we had a window box where she grew daisies.” His expression goes soft at the memory. “I’d forgotten.” 

He looks up at her, and the empty look he had in her-- _their_ \--apartment is gone, replaced by something younger and more innocent. Vulnerable. She holds out her hand, and brings him to his feet. He tugs her in against him, and rests his cheek on the top of her head as he holds her tightly. 

“Steve’s going to be right at your side the whole time, and all you have to do is tell Jarvis if you need me. It’s only a couple hours, and I’ll be waiting when the jet lands.” 

“Not sure if you’re trying to reassure me or yourself, there, doll.” 

“Both, probably. You have me worried for a bit.” 

“It’s going to take time to get used to all of this. With-- Before, I was left in a cell before missions. Don’t speak. Don’t move. Nothing that would make me a threat.” 

“And the muzzle during the missions?” He nods, and Amelia fights to stay calm. She buries her head against his shoulder until he steps back and looks down at her. “I’m done with that. They didn’t make me put it on for the last mission.” He pauses, and then bitterly adds, “Didn’t need to.” 

She opens her mouth to ask, and he shakes his head. “Not today. I’ll tell you, just… not now, okay?” 

Amelia nods, and he leads her along the trails again, still holding tightly to her hand. After a while, they end up sitting on a nearby bench, watching butterflies and birds fluttering around, and he has his arm over her shoulders. She starts up a story about one of her and Tony’s road trips, back when he was still living in Malibu. She can’t fly, so he’d occasionally fly out to the East coast just to drive the distance with her. A couple trips had been a comedy of errors, start to finish, and this was one of them. 

“So, Tony and I find ourselves in this nightmare of a B&B just outside of Detroit. If you’ve ever read a book about a haunted house, you’d know what to expect, and I was stupid enough to agree to it. The woman behind the counter looks like the crypt keeper---remind me to explain that sometime--and I am about ready to sleep in the car, but Tony gets us the nicest room in the place and swears that it’s going to be fine.” 

“You trusted him?” 

Amelia snorts. A good many of the misadventures she’s had in the last five years started with trusting Tony. “Yeah, I’m an idiot. So, we get up there, and there’s only one bed, which is fine, not like we hadn’t shared before, and the place is really run down, even if it does look mostly clean. Any other time, Tony would leave, but he’s decided that it’s an adventure, and his adventure standards are ridiculously low. We’re not sleeping in the snow or in a pit of spiders? He’s happy. So, we get ready and lay down to sleep, only to be woken three hours later by this horrible scream. He suits up, and I put on my sneakers, and we’re out the door to investigate. We--” 

“Wait. Sneakers?” 

“Well, I wasn’t going in my socks.” 

“Someone is screaming, and you go rushing towards it in your pajamas?” 

“I was with Tony. It was fine.” 

“Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You and Stevie both. How did I end up with two of you?” 

“Are you done? Can I finish my story?” He waves his hand, inviting her to continue. “Right, so as I was trying to say, the sound is coming from the attic. We get to the door, and the crypt keeper is nowhere to be seen. Tony and I aren’t sure whether she’s the one being attacked or if she’s the one doing the attacking, but the person screams again, and it’s _terrible_ , so Tony knocks the door open and goes running down the stairs, and I follow him.” She pauses. “There are a half dozen naked women running around, and more coming out of different doorways. Pretty much the last thing we expected to find. Turns out that the crypt keeper was running a brothel out of her basement. The women see us and freak out. They’re getting dressed and running out a back way, and the little old woman is shouting about us trespassing and how we need to get back upstairs and forget what we saw down there. There’s another scream, though, so we ignore her and follow it to this door at the end of the hall. Tony blasts the door open, and we see this man tied up, and this mostly naked woman flogging him with a little whip. Everything stops when we get in there, and Tony can’t stop laughing. Turns out the man is a Michigan senator. I ask if he’s there under his own free will, and the man nods, so I push Tony out the door, and we get our stuff, and drive until we find a Hilton. We couldn’t look at each other without laughing for the next three days. It was horrible.” She’s laughing as she retells it, and Bucky’s cracking up beside her, and it’s exactly the response she was hoping for. 

“Lies. All lies,” Tony says, walking over to them. “I’m not intruding, am I?” 

“Not at all.” Amelia slides over closer to Bucky, making room for a third person on the bench. “I was just showing Bucky the garden.” 

“Like it? This is Bruce’s baby. There’s a retractable greenhouse cover that he uses in the winter, and he’s talking about putting a hydroponic vegetable garden in one of the unused labs. Turns out he has a bit of a green thumb.” Tony laughs at his own joke. “So, you good to go, Barnes? This mission won’t mess you up too badly?” 

Bucky glances over to Amelia and gives her a little smile. “Yeah, I think I’m good now. Just had to get out of my head for a bit.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Good. Make sure you tell Steve if you’re still a little off before we land, though. Communication, and all that. Seriously. The fewer surprises out there, the better. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“Good. Good conversation. I’m going to go and try to finish up a couple upgrades before we head out. See you down there, Barnes.” Tony wanders back towards the elevator, and Bucky turns his questioning gaze to Amelia. 

“He’s just making sure you’re okay. That’s his way of saying he cares.” 

“Right. Lucky me, huh?” He tugs his phone from his pocket and glances at the time. “Probably should start getting ready.” 

Amelia stands up beside him, hand in his, as they return to their apartment. He grabs the uniform, and goes into her room to get changed. Amelia waits anxiously in the hallway. Bucky’s good mood slipped as they made their way down from the rooftop. Finally, the door opens, and he’s standing there, still as stone, armor in place and holsters strapped on. Amelia watched him for a moment, taking in his wary expression, before stepping up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Very intimidating. Come on, let’s finish getting you ready, yeah?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Most people run from me when I look like this.”

“They just don’t know you, then. Too bad for them.” She slips her arm in his and lets him guide her back out to the kitchen. 

She stands by the table, watching as he hides a sizeable artillery into the dozen tiny pockets and holsters around his uniform. Done, he turns back to her. “Walk me down, doll?”

Amelia smiles, and he holds his hand out. 

***

He’s doing his best to be okay, to push away the chill that comes with the Soldier. Amelia’s hand in his is helping. Steve is only person in the conference room when they arrive. That helps, too. The Captain looks up from his tablet when Bucky walks in and goes very still. 

“Hey, Buck,” he says carefully. 

“Hey, jerk. Relax. It’s still me.” 

“Punk.” Steve sets the tablet down. “You ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good,” Steve says with a grin. “It’ll be good to have you out there, together again. Almost like old times.” Steve’s smile is open, and hopeful, and so familiar that Bucky can’t help but smile a bit in return, despite his nerves. 

“It’s been a while.” 

Steve nods. “Far too long.” 

The others arrive, trickling in one or two at a time. Tony is showing Amelia something on his tablet, and they’re in a quiet, but intense, discussion for a few minutes. When Steve calls for them to head to the quinjet, Amelia goes with them as far as the launch pad. She spends a moment with Steve, and by the way Steve looks over to him while they talk, Bucky can guess that she’s asking the Captain to watch out for him. Not that she even needed to ask, but he appreciates the gesture. She says goodbye to Tony, and wishes them all luck, and then finally comes up to him. 

“You’ve got this,” she says. “Go kick some HYDRA ass.” 

He can’t stop the surprised huff of laughter. “Anything for you, doll. I’ll call on our way back.” 

“And I’ll meet you here when you get home. Now, go on. Steve’s waiting for you.” 

He sets a hand on her shoulder, and then goes to get on the jet. Moments later, they’re on their way. 

***

It takes 20 minutes to get from New York to Boston. They land at an old airfield base just south of the city, climbing into waiting SUVs. It’s a 40 minute drive to the HYDRA base, and then they’ll move into position and wait until dark to make their move. He’s tense, but no worse than the time leading up to any other mission. Steve keeps glancing over, checking on him. 

“Okay, team,” Steve says, as the sky finally goes dark. He sets his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and gives a little smile. “Let’s do this.” 

Steve leads them in. The base is small and poorly staffed. They don’t run into the first HYDRA agent until they’re nearly inside. Barton takes him out before the agent gets off a shot. Tony deprograms the locks, and they all slip inside. 

The hallway is empty, but it won’t take long before they’re noticed. Steve signals for them to split up, and Bucky falls into place beside him. They exchange a glance, and start down the hall towards the left stairwell. They get to halfway to the second level before Jarvis gives warning that they’re about to have company. The doors above and below them swing open, a dozen agents coming through either door, guns raised. 

Steve sends the shield flying, and all of the sudden, they’re moving together like the last seventy years never happened. Of course, they both have better weapons now, and better training, and Bucky has a better arm, but their bodies remember how to interpret and react to each other’s every move and expression. 

He doesn’t feel like the Soldier. He feels like Bucky Barnes. And that’s amazing. Steve tosses him the shield and he incapacitates the last agent. Shield still in hand, he looks up to Steve, catching his gaze, and they both grin. 

Today is a good day. 

***

Hearing about a mission after it happens is a lot different than watching it while it happens. Amelia holds her breath when she sees the number of HYDRA agents about to swarm the stairwell. JARVIS makes use of the facility’s security cameras to give her a steady view of Bucky, and she sees the flash of panic before his expression hardens into determination. Amelia has the headset in place, just in case, and her nails are leaving marks in the leather chair cover from squeezing her hands into the fabric.

The fight ends, and he smiles, and she almost chokes on the air as it rushes from her lungs. Bucky and Steve turn and run deeper into the complex, and she watches on. 

They reach the main control center at the same time as the others. From here, it should be just a simple matter of securing the rest of the HYDRA agents, grabbing all of their research, and setting the charges. 

And that would have been the way it played out. There are less than twenty agents left by then, all gathered in that room. Steve offers them a chance to walk out, be taken into custody on the chance of lesser charges, but there aren’t any takers. 

When the first agent fires a gun at Natasha, fighting breaks out again. Twenty humans against the Avengers shouldn’t even be a threat, but Amelia watches a HYDRA agent his way towards a computer, and she knows that things are about to go wrong. 

“Jarvis, top left.” 

Jarvis relays the message, and Steve spins, tossing his shield towards the guy, but not in time. There’s a bright flash, and every computer screen in the room goes dead, along with lighting, and the security cameras. 

And the headsets. 

The last thing she hears is Bucky scream, and then the feed goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* 
> 
> So, there's that. See you on Friday!


	24. The Care and Comforting of Super Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not quite Friday, but this was ready, and as I spent most of the day working what happens next, I figured I'd put it up a few hours early. Also, you were all so lovely about the cliff hanger, so I didn't want to draw it out too long. 
> 
> I worked out an outline for the rest of Broken Chances, and assuming there aren't too many wild character tangents, we should have about 30 chapters left. Half of those chapters are mostly written. The next 10 or so aren't. I probably won't have three updates in a week again any time soon. But, as of right now, my goal is to be done before Civil War comes out. Keep your fingers crossed. 
> 
> As always, I only own Amelia and my mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

_The last thing she hears is Bucky scream, and then the feed goes dead._

***

“Jarvis! What happened?” Amelia shouts, coming to her feet, trying to manually pull up the feeds again.

“I believe they activated a high powered electromagnetic pulse. I am attempting to re-establish contact with Mr. Stark now.” 

Amelia turns back to the black screens. An EMP wouldn’t slow down most of the team. It might be enough to fry Tony’s suit, though, which seemed like a logical conclusion, especially if Jarvis couldn’t reach him. 

But Bucky-- What would an EMP do to his arm? To him? The electronic components were wired into his nervous system. A strong enough blast would incapacitate him, and she was willing to bet that was exactly HYDRA’s plan. 

She sits waiting, getting regular updates from Jarvis, who still can’t patch them through. He switches to a satellite view, so she can at least see them making it out of the building. Tony is moving a bit stiffly, and Steve is supporting Bucky’s weight, but at least everyone is standing. 

“I am piloting the quinjet to their location now,” Jarvis informs her. Government agents show up to take away the HYDRA agents for questioning. Five minutes later, the jet lands, and team boards. It isn’t until the quinjet takes off that the screens come back on. Tony stands there on the other side, faceplate lifted but the rest of his uniform in place. “Hey, kid. We’re okay. Everyone made it out. I’m wearing the suit home, as half of the gears are locked, and Bucky’s a bit out of it, but we’re all here and accounted for.” 

Steve pops up in the background. “Is that Amy?” 

“Say hi, kid.” 

“Hi, Steve.” 

He waves kind of distractedly. “Can you get her through to Bucky’s screen?” 

“Got it. See you when we get home, Amy.” The screen flickers, and Bucky’s face comes up. He’s leaning back against one of the chairs. He’s pale and shaky, but alive, and the tired smile he gives her is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

“Hey, doll. How’d we do?” 

“Brilliantly, until you got fried. How are you doing?” 

“Operational.” He catches the word as it leaves his mouth, and his eyes go a bit wide. He takes a breath and grimaces at the movement. “I’ve had worse. Arms a little screwy, but it’s already repairing itself. Sorry to worry you.” 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Steve drops into view, taking the seat at Bucky’s side. As soon as Steve is in view, Bucky straightens and schools his face to hid any hint of pain. “He did good today; no sign of the Soldier.” 

Amelia sees something flicker in Bucky’s eyes, and knows that isn’t quite true, but he wasn’t mentioning it, so she wouldn’t either. She’d wait until he was home before she asked about it. 

“I‘m right here, pal.” 

“I know. Sorry.” He gives Bucky an apologetic smile, then turns back to Amy. “We’ll be back home in about twenty minutes. I’ll leave you two to talk.” He claps a hand on Bucky’s good soldier, and walks off. 

Bucky tries to get more comfortable, wincing again as he moves. 

“How bad?” Amelia asks quietly. 

“I’ve had worse,” he repeats. 

She bites back a sigh, counting the minutes until they get home. Bucky doesn’t speak again, but his gaze never wavers from her face as she starts talking about some new movie coming out later that summer. She’s babbling, but can’t seem to stop herself. They shut off the video when the jet is only five minutes out, and she takes the elevator up to wait. 

Clint and Natasha are the first off, followed by Thor. Tony comes next, still suited up and with an annoyed expression on his face, but he gives her a tired wave as he walks past.

Bucky walks into view, movements slow and a bit wobbly. Steve stands a foot to his left, and every time he goes to reach for his friend, Bucky glares at him. 

“I‘m _fine_ , Steve.” 

Steve holds his hands up in surrender, but doesn’t move any further away. Amelia steps forward to where he can see her, and he smiles in greeting, even if it does look a bit pained. 

“Hey, doll.” 

She walks up, stopping a few feet in front of them. “Hey, yourself. Do you have debriefing?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Not until tomorrow morning. He should go to medical.” The way he looks at Bucky when he says it, like if he looks away too long Bucky might not be there when he turns back, tells her everything she needs to know about how bad it was.

“Told you. I’m fine.” 

He’s holding his prosthetic to his chest to stabilize it, and it’s obvious that he is exhausted and in pain. Amelia glances to Steve. “Is there anything he won’t heal from on his own?” 

Steve sighs. “Probably not.” 

“Okay. Why don’t you both go get cleaned up, and I’ll start heating up some leftovers. We can all crash on the couch for a while.” 

Steve’s shoulders relax a bit, and he nods. “Yeah. That’d be good. Buck?” 

“I call dibs on the Thai.” 

“There, settled.” Steve briefly sets his hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, and then starts towards the hallway. Amelia holds out her left hand, and Bucky takes it with his right. The three of them take the elevator down together. Bucky’s struggling to stay completely upright, holding himself stiffly rather than lean on the wall or either of them. 

Stubborn, but it’s not like she’s surprised. Some training dies hard.

The moment they are alone in their apartment, she leads him into the bedroom, and turns him to face her. She gently pushes the hair away from his face, and he finally starts to release some of the tension in his shoulders. 

Her hands fall to his chest, resting against the buckles. “Let me help get this off, okay?” 

He nods, and she starts undoing the complicated network of holsters and leather until he’s standing bare chested in front of her. He's a bit bruised and there are some minor scrapes along one side, but that's not what draws her attention. The skin around his prosthetic arm is puffy, red, and blistered, and there's burn marks where metal meets flesh. She hisses in sympathy at the sight. 

“Christ, Bucky. How bad is it, really? Can you move the arm at all?”

He experimentally moves the arm around some, wincing as he does so. “Not as bad as it was.” 

“Bad enough, though. Go grab some clothes. I’ll get a bath ready.” 

“A shower is fine--” 

“--until you fall over where you stand. Come on. I’ll wash your hair, and you can tell me all about your mission.” 

He considers for a second before nodding. “I’ll be right in.” 

Amelia draws the bath, putting in extra bubbles and filling it almost as deep as it will go before Bucky walks back in. When he does, she quickly leaves, giving him the chance to get undressed and into the water. The thought makes her blush, and she roughly pushes those feelings aside. He needs care tonight, not her overactive hormones making things awkward. 

When he calls out, she walks in, grabs a washcloth and a couple of towels from the cupboard, and tugs a stool over to sit behind him. One of the showerheads detaches, so she brings it down, sets one of the towels across her lap to keep her legs dry, and turns the water on. As soon as it warms up, she directs the flow towards his head with one hand, while the other gently works through his tangled hair. He leans back into her touch, eyes closed as she tends to him. Once his hair is wet, she turns off the water and squirts shampoo in her hands, warming it before rubbing it onto his head. It lathers up quickly, but she takes her time, carefully scraping her nails along his scalp. When she’s done, she rinses his hair clean. Bucky sits silently through all of this, and she almost thinks he’s fallen asleep until he reaches up, taking her right hand in his and holding it against his neck. He opens his eyes, and leans his head back until he can look up at her. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His voice is thick with emotion, but his silver-blue eyes read like an open book. Where there was the pain and wariness that haunted him after the mission, she now sees gratitude and tenderness, and something more, something deeper that she doesn’t dare try to put a name to. 

She squeezes his hand in response, unable to reply through the lump in her throat. 

This man had spent seventy years mistreated and feared. He was a weapon, an object to be used and discarded at the whims of his handlers. When he came back, hiding pain because that’s what he’d been trained to do, the only thing she could think to do was show him something different. Care for him. Give him a safe place to be vulnerable if he needed it. And when he moved back until his head was resting on her lap, his eyes closing again, she knows that she accomplished it. He still holds her one hand, but with the other, she begins to card through his hair, working out tangles and soothing it down. He hums, and looks back up at her. 

“Keep that up, and Stevie’s gonna walk in here and find me sound asleep on your lap.” 

“If you want to go lay down, I can stay up with him. I’m sure he’ll understand.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I need to be there. When I went down-- He was terrified. I’m surprised he let me out of his sight long enough to get cleaned up.” He reluctantly sits up. “I’ll finish up in here. Did you want to start working on the leftovers?”

“Yeah.” Amelia stands up and sets the second towel where he can reach it. “I have burn cream, if you need it.” 

Bucky sits up a bit more, and looks down at his sudsy, but healing, shoulder. “I think I’m alright. I’ll call if I need help, though.” 

She nods, and heads for the door. 

“Amelia?” 

She pauses and turns back around.

“Really. Thank you.” 

A small smile pulls at her lips. “You’re welcome.” 

By the time she gets out to the kitchen, Steve is already there, setting containers of heated leftovers out on the island. He looks at her, his gaze quickly narrowing in on the damp spot on her knees and lower thighs from Bucky’s wet hair before letting his gaze drift back up to her face. He raises a single questioning eyebrow. 

She blushes. “He needed help with his hair.” 

Steve shakes his head. “Is shampoo service available to all of the Avengers, or just Bucky?” 

Amelia feels her blush go a little redder, but she laughs it off. “Why? Do you need help with your hair, Steve?” 

This time it’s Steve’s turn to blush. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Relax. I really was just helping him with the shampoo. There was enough bubble bath that I couldn't see anything, and I never moved my hands to anywhere south of his neck. Bucky’s virtue is still intact, I promise.” 

“What about my virtue?” Bucky asks, entering the room. He’s dressed in a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Bare feet stick out the bottom. 

“Steve was worried that I might have been in there tarnishing your reputation,” Amelia confesses with a wink. 

Bucky snorts. “That ship sailed a long time ago, doll. More likely, he was worried about yours.” 

It’s Amelia’s turn to laugh. “Speaking of long-sailed ships. Alright, I think Steve beat us to the microwave. Grab whatever you want, and I’ll go turn on the television. What sounds good?” 

They end up watching nature documentaries. Bucky sits between them on the couch, his arm still held closely in to keep it from getting jostled. It only takes an hour before he’s asleep, slumping down until his head is resting on Amelia’s shoulder. Steve meets her gaze over his slumbering body with a fond smile. 

“Are you going to want help getting him into bed?” Steve asks quietly. 

“Nah, he’s fine where he is.” 

“Do you want me to go?” 

Amelia shakes her head. “Stay. Please. I could use the company.” 

“I’m sorry. If I knew that things were going to wrong, I wouldn’t have--” 

“Don’t you dare. If the best I can do is sit in the safety of the tower to help if he needs it, then I’m going to do it. You don’t need to apologize just because it got a little scary in the middle. I can handle it.” 

“I’m not saying you can’t, Amy. I just-- it should have gone better. He was hurt, and--” 

Bucky kicked his feet around, landing his legs on Steve’s lap with a solid thunk. “Shush. I’m trying to sleep. Told you on the jet, Steve. Wasn’t your fault. Shit happens.” He stretches out, his head coming to rest on Amelia’s lap. She tucks a throw pillow under his arm to give it better support, and he mumbles a sleepy ‘thanks’ as he drifts back to sleep. 

Amelia glances to Steve, and he just shakes his head before turning his gaze back to the television, but she can still see the guilt in his gaze. Before she can say anything, Bucky kicks him with enough force that Steve makes a surprised noise as the air is forced from his body. “I can hear you thinking, punk. Knock it off. I’m fine.” 

She gives Steve a sympathetic smile, and stretches her free hand out to rest it on his shoulder. He brings a hand up and sets it over hers, and they go back to watching the television in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the bubble bath scene and the post-mission cuddle with Steve made up for the cliff hanger. :D 
> 
> See you all in a week(ish)!


	25. Dreams That Go Bump in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say. I'm still working on this, and I won't walk away from it. 
> 
> I've spend the past few months fighting with what was supposed to be one chapter. I finally got the first part of it closer to what I wanted (even if I'm still not 100% happy with it); now I just need to attack the rest of it and get it into line. Also, I have a new computer that doesn't freeze up when I'm trying to type, so that's going a little smoother now, too. There are probably another 2-3 chapters out of what I've been working on, so those will be coming very soon.
> 
> When I wasn't fighting with this part, I was working on some scenes later on in the story, including a character who gets added in a little later down the road, and I think you'll all like him. He's going to be a lot of fun. I've almost closed the gap between where we are now and the next huge chunk that I have written, which pretty much leads up to the ending. It's just this tricky, sticky middle part that is giving me fits. 
> 
> ALSO-- I'm going today (actually.. in about an hour) to see Civil War (YAY!). Broken Chances will remain spoiler-free, though. I just want to put that out there for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.
> 
> Thank you for waiting, and for not giving up on me yet.
> 
> \-----

_“Destroy them.”_

_Alexander Pierce, grotesque after months of death, stood at his side, his command echoing in the Asset’s ears. He saw his targets--NO! Not targets. Never targets. These people are his friends--and the gun shook in his hands._

_“Soldier, you have your orders. They need to be stopped.”_

_“No!” He gasps the word out, feeling it painfully rip from between his lips. He barely see Pierce’s hand move before the meaty palm lands on the side of his face. The hand is rotting, and the stench fills the Asset’s senses, blocking all out everything else._

_“Take the shot.”_

_He takes a breath, lifts the gun again, trying to ignore the persistent tremble. His targets--FRIENDS--stand before him, turned in towards each other. The man’s posture says that he will step in front of her, protecting the smaller target with his body._

_The Asset takes that into account, and adjusts his strategy accordingly._

_“Bucky, please. You don’t have to do this. This isn’t you anymore. He can’t control you.” The man is trying to reason with him, but it’s the girl who draws his attention. She pulls away from the man, despite his desperate attempts to hold onto her, and approaches the asset. Pierce is growling in his ear, but he can’t move. Can’t anything. The girl stops in front of him, gentle hand resting on his face, and he wants to cry._

_The gun goes off in his hand, and she crumples, and he can feel tears on his cheeks, tracing down the skin that is still warm from her touch. The man runs forward, gathering the girl in his arms, holding her as the second bullet finds him._

_Mission complete._

***

He wakes with a start, jerking up in bed, covered in sweat. His heart is pounding in his chest, and his hands are fisted in the covers. 

A soft hand covers his, as Amelia sits up beside him.

“Bucky?” 

With shaking hands, he pulls her up onto his lap, holding her tightly against him. She tucks his head against her neck, murmuring soft words as she ran her free hand along his back.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t erase the dream from his mind, can’t get rid of the sight of Amelia falling at his feet, blood flowing from her torso. He feels nauseous, and so, so cold. He can still feel the gun in his hands, the kickback when it goes off, vibration working up the bones to his shoulder. He pulls back, hands frantically seeking her stomach, reassuring himself that it was a dream and nothing more. 

She startles, pulling back. “Bucky?” 

“Please.” His voice cracks. “Please, I need to see that you’re okay.” 

She nods, and says nothing as he inches her shirt up a couple inches, flesh hand splaying across her stomach. The skin is soft and other than a few old scars, blemish free. His hand is shaking as he pulls her shirt back into place and adjusts his arms until she is tucked safely against him. He listens to her breathing, focuses on the feel of her hands against his clammy skin as she comforts him, the tickle of her hair on his cheek. Anything to keep from reliving the moment she died at his feet. The way she looked at him… Accepting, and so infinitely sad. But not for herself. Not for Steve. 

For him. For the moment he would remember who he was, and what he was doing. What he did.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to see her face. “Promise me. Amelia, you have to promise me. If HYDRA ever gets me, if I ever-- If I lose myself again, don’t try to save me. Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Don’t let me hurt you.” 

Her eyes flash. “Not ever going to happen. We won’t let them have you, Bucky, and if they ever do manage it, I’m not running. Don't ever ask that of me.” 

“Doll, please. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make me live with that.” Steve could take care of himself, but Amelia had no protection against him. And he couldn’t survive, knowing that he hurt her.

Amelia’s eyes are red with barely-held tears, but she nods. “I will do everything I can to reach you first, but if I can’t, I’ll run. But only until we can bring you back to us. Doesn’t matter how bad it gets; I’m not giving up on you.” 

He wants to shake her and tell her that he is never going to be worth taking that kind of chance on, but her promise to not give up on him stops the words in his throat. He nods, and buries his head against her shoulder. 

During the mission, when the current hit… It felt like he’d never left. Like all of this--Amela, Steve, everything--had been nothing more than a dream. Like he was waking up in the chair again. It was a good thing the room was dark. He had a bad moment, and it was probably better that the others didn’t realize how close he’d come to giving in to the darker part of himself. 

***

It’s a long time before he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, the sun is coming in through the windows and Amelia is lying halfway across his chest. Last night’s dream is still fresh in his mind, and he reaches up to brush the hair from her face with slightly trembling fingers. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line. Sam has told him that a few times now. But that didn’t make this sort of setback any less frustrating. It seemed like every time he got closer to who he wanted to be, something came around and he fell apart again. He just wanted to be okay. 

Some days, it feels like that is never going to happen. 

It’s going on 9:00, and he knows they only have a short amount of time before Steve is up and knocking on their door. He was probably over in his room right now, staring at the clock, wondering if it was too early to check in on them. He’d get up, but Amelia is resting so peacefully, and he hates the thought of losing her warmth. 

Eventually, she wakes up, and while she’s showering, Bucky goes out to the rest of the apartment. He’s completely unsurprised to find Steve already out there making pancakes. Steve turns to look at him, concerned gaze sweeping over him, taking in every detail, before he pointed to the table. “There’s already a stack ready, if you want to get started.” 

“I’ll wait. Amelia will be out in a bit, anyhow. We can all eat together.” 

Steve nods. “Thought maybe. Did you sleep okay? You can get a nap in later, if you want to. We have to debrief after lunch, but then you’ll have the rest of the day free.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“And your arm?” 

He moves his cybernetic arm around, testing the functions. It glitches, shooting pain into his shoulder. He hides his wince with a careless shrug. “Still a bit off.” 

“Tony can look at that for you. We’ll be seeing him during debriefing anyhow, unless you don’t want to wait.” 

“Steve, it’s fine. I’m fine. Let it go, alright? How are you doing, after everything?” 

“Me? Jesus, Buck. I walked away with hardly a scratch. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

“I don’t know. Seems some of your reflexes have slowed a bit since I fought you on the helicarrier,” he teases lightly, hoping to soften the worry lines around Steve’s eyes. “You up for some training after debriefing?” 

Steve looks a bit sceptical, and with good reason, Bucky readily admits to himself. His arm isn’t going to take any further abuse well, but if a few rounds doesn’t erase the worry in Steve’s eyes, nothing will. He’ll deal with his arm later. It’ll heal, given enough of a chance. And there’s nothing that Steve could do that would make it that much worse, anyhow. 

Amelia comes wandering out, hair fastened up at the back of her head. Her face brightens when she sees Steve, quickly walking up and wrapping her arms around him in a huge hug. Steve hugs her back just as tightly, and Bucky watches some of the tension drain from the other man’s shoulders. Her head rests against him, and Steve presses his cheek to the top of her head. 

Sometimes, he forgets that Steve and Amelia had a close friendship before Bucky was even in the picture. But when Amelia steps back, and Steve smiles down at her, he can’t help but notice the way they both seem a little more relaxed. She would have been worried about him, too, and Bucky would bet anything that Steve was a little worried about her being involved in the mission, even as little as she was. Not to mention the way Steve was so shaken up after Bucky was hurt. 

Amelia sets her hand on Steve’s shoulder, and looks over the pile of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage. 

“If I knew you were cooking, I would have gotten up earlier.” 

“You needed your sleep. Are you doing alright?” Steve asks, turning a bit to give her a sharp once-over.

“I’m okay. You?” 

Bucky can see the meaningless assurances on his face, but Steve pauses and shrugs. “I’ll feel better once we get through debriefing and can put this whole mission behind us. We’re meeting after lunch, and Agent Hill wants you there, too.”

“I’ll be there. I have the day off, anyhow. Pepper texted me this morning.” 

Bucky glances at the wall clock. It’s 9:47, a good three hours before the meeting. “You two going to keep chatting, or can we eat?” he asks lightly. Steve rolls his eyes, but they both came over to sit the kitchen island. The conversation falls away as they prepare their plates and begin eating. The food is good; it usually is when Steve cooks. Not that he does it often. But when you grow up needing to make everything count, and valuing food in a way that most people in this time never will, you learn how to make the best of anything in the cupboard.

They pass the time with some Netflix, make sandwiches for lunch, and soon, it’s time to go.

“Are you ready for this, Buck?” Steve asks, as they prepare to head to the meeting. “You know the EMP is going to get brought up.” 

Bucky nods. “I’m good. Let’s just get this over with. I was kind of hoping to get that sparring in this afternoon.” 

Steve gives him a concerned glance. “Are you sure that you’re okay to do that? Your arm--” 

“--is fine. It’s fine, Steve. I mean, I can take it easy on you if you want…” 

“I think I can handle it,” Steve responds, dryly. 

“And while you two are bonding, I’m going to tackle paperwork, so take your time.”

“Not going to watch us, doll?” Probably better, really. He’s pretty sure that he can convince Steve that his arm was fine. Amelia was a little better at reading him. She’s already casting concerned glances his way, not in the least convinced that he is as well healed as he said he was. 

“Not this time,” she replies. He nods, and moves to stand by her side. 

She set her hand on his flesh arm, curling her fingers around his bicep. He glances down, and gingerly sets his other hand over hers, careful not to jar the barely healing nerves. 

“Are you ready?” She asks softly. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he tells her. Steve takes up his position on Bucky’s other side, hand settling onto the metal plates where they connected to his shoulder. Bucky ignores the pain and returns the other man’s worried smile. 

“Let’s head down, then,” Steve says. “They’ll be waiting for us.” 

***

As usual, Steve’s right. The rest of the team is already seated by the time Bucky, Amelia, and Steve walk into the room. They sit down just as Maria enters. Amelia releases Bucky’s arm, but then sets her hand over his under the table, squeezing lightly in silent support. 

“Alright. Let’s get started,” Maria says, taking the remaining seat. Steve pulls out his tablet, the relevant files already pulled up before he starts going over the basics of their actions during the mission. His voice is sure and strong right up until he gets to the part where they reach the center control room. 

“The agent set off an EMP, and the room went dark. Tony’s suit and Bucky’s cybernetic arm both malfunctioned, but the rest of the team was able to subdue the remaining agents before the emergency lighting came back on.” 

Bucky sees Maria’s gaze circle around to him, and his hand twitches in Amelia’s, the only outward sign of tension he’ll allow himself. “Sergeant Barnes, is there anything you’d like to add to the report? You were the one most affected by the blast.” 

Amelia’s hand tightens on his, and he hears the quick, quiet intake of breath as it pulls into her lungs, no doubt reliving the moment in memory. He feels Steve tense beside him, too, and catches the worried look on his face. He glances around the table and the looks on the team’s face range from bored (Tony) to concerned (Sam), but no one is looking at him like he might be dangerous or as if he had anything to be ashamed of. 

“Not sure what you want me to say,” he responds honestly. “Did it hurt? Yeah. And losing my arm for the better part of the night is something that I’d rather not repeat.” 

“What I was asking,” Maria clarifies, “is if you felt in control during the mission, and do you think you are ready for longer or more involved missions?” 

Bucky sits up a little straighter, trying to project a confidence that he didn’t yet feel. “I’m ready.” 

Maria nods. “Good. Natasha gathered new intel yesterday. As soon as we review it, you’ll have another base or two to take down.” 

“We’ll need Amy to stay on comms,” Natasha adds in. 

“Are you okay with that?” Maria asks. 

Amelia nods. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

They continued on, going over some of the recovered intel and discussing further details of the mission. The conversation never quite made it back to his injuries, something he was incredibly grateful for. 

***

Years of conditioning make it possible to hide how badly he’s hurting after the sparring match with Steve. He grins at his friend, claps him on the shoulder, backs out of the group dinner for that night, and heads into Amelia’s apartment, closing the door and making it as far as the couch before Amelia sticks her head out of her small office area. 

His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t really need to see to know what she’s thinking as he’s laying there. He hears a soft sigh, and then she walks out to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a couple of ice packs. She sets one on his face, where he has a really impressive bruise forming from Steve’s elbow, and he finally cracks his eyes open, taking the second pack and setting it against his shoulder. 

“You’re an idiot,” she says softly. 

He tries to shrug, but it hurts, so he just gives her a sheepish smile. “I’ll be okay.” 

“I know. Did you manage to stop Steve from worrying?” 

Bucky snorts. “He never stops.” He hears Amelia’s soft laugh as she starts to stand up.

“Bring me back leftovers from dinner, would ya?” he mumbles, eyes starting to close again. She pushes his unruly hair back from his face, and nods. Moments later, he’s drifting off to sleep. 

He awakes some time later, a warm blanket draped over him, and a note on the coffee table telling him that dinner is in the fridge and the team is all in the media room watching movies; he’s welcome to join in if he feels up to it. 

Bucky heats up his dinner, eating it while catching up on the news, and then gets ready for bed. When Amelia slips in beside him a few hours later, he reaches one arm across her waist and pulls her in close before going back to sleep.

***

They decide on Wednesday for their initial afternoon out. Once the day is set, Bucky and Steve seclude themselves in Steve’s apartment, planning the afternoon. They wouldn’t tell her anything except that they’d be picking her up from her office. 

Wednesday morning, Bucky has breakfast ready before she’s even out of bed. He and Steve have already gone for a run, and both men are lounging around her kitchen when she walks in. 

“Good morning, Amy,” Steve says, setting down the newspaper he was reading. 

“Morning,” she mumbles, giving him a tired smile. 

Bucky walks up to her, and presses a cup of coffee into her hands, and she smiles gratefully. 

“Come on over, doll. Breakfast is ready.” 

“So, are you ready to tell me the plan for this afternoon?” she asks, sitting down. Steve and Bucky exchange an amused glance. 

“You’re going to have to wait and see,” Steve tells her. 

“I’m not going to regret this, am I?” 

“You don’t trust us?” Bucky asks, pressing one hand to his heart in fake dismay. He sat down across from her, sliding a plate her way as Steve brought over the platters of eggs, bacon, and French toast. 

“I did before you started plotting behind closed doors,” she teases.

Steve snorts. “That was all his idea.” 

“I wanted to do something nice. We deserve a nice afternoon after last time.” His gaze flickers a bit, and Steve straightens his back. 

“Buck, that wasn’t your fault.” 

“Doesn’t make it okay.” 

“I don’t know. The Soldier’s kind of sweet. Think I can borrow him sometime and take him out for ice cream?” She says it to chase the shadows from Bucky’s eyes, but realizes as she says it that she means it, too. 

Two pairs of incredulous blue eyes turned her way. 

“Amelia…” 

She shrugs. “Just saying. If he ever drops in when we’re downtown, I’m buying the guy an ice cream cone.”

Steve shakes his head. “He’s dangerous.” 

“He’s scared,” Amelia counters.

Bucky reaches out, and touches her arm in silent gratitude. 

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t feel the need to make an appearance tonight,” Steve responds. 

Bucky shrugs, somewhat apologetically. “Gotta admit, doll, the evening goes a lot smoother without the Soldier.” 

“Maybe. Still buying him an ice cream, if the opportunity ever comes up, though.”

He gives her a shaky smile. “Eat your breakfast. Don’t you have work today?” 

She rolls her eyes, but goes back to her meal.


	26. Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. I can't even begin to tell you how much all of the comments and kudos on the last chapters (and all of the chapters before) mean. I cherish each and every one. 
> 
> The next chapter is 95% ready to go. I've started the one after that. We're about to go on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. And, speaking of roller coasters, Coney Island and that thing about the muzzle are both coming up in the next chapter. 
> 
> As always, Amelia and the mistakes are mine. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

Kate is already waiting for her as she rushes in, just over fifteen minutes late. “Sorry. Bucky had Steve over for breakfast, and I lost track of time.” 

Her assistant smiles knowingly. “If I had two super soldiers making me breakfast, I’d be a little late, too.” 

Amelia rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” 

“No? With the way Bucky shows up just about every afternoon to walk you home? You’re not fooling me.” She sits back in her chair, hands gently resting on her swollen stomach. “If I didn’t have my Carl, I’d be tempted to give one of them a shot myself. Or maybe Hawkeye. That man’s arms…” 

“He’s with Natasha,” Amelia warns with a laugh. 

“Ah, well, never mind then. And that’s alright. I’m more than happy with my lot.” 

Amelia smiles as she watches her friend get started with work for the day. At 32, Kate was married to a man who adored her and eight months pregnant with their first child. The woman practically glowed, and with good reason. She was living the life she’d always dreamed of. 

“Only a few more weeks now, right?” 

“As little as two,” Kate says, with a nod. 

“As much as I’m going to hate not having you around, if coming in becomes too much, you know that you can take an early maternity leave, right? You get as much time as you want, full pay. No need to be here if you’re uncomfortable.” 

Kate laughs. “This stage in the game, I’m always uncomfortable. And if I need the time at home, you’ll be the first to know.” She pulls out a stack of papers. “You have a meeting with Mr. Stark in half an hour.” 

“Do I?” 

“He called about five minutes ago.” 

“Alright, thanks. I’ll finish up that report and take it with me.” She heads into her office, closing the door behind her. There’s a stack of other files waiting, a dozen voicemails, and twice that many emails. And it’ll all wait until after the meeting, she decides. The report doesn’t take long, so she spends a few minutes tidying her desk before getting ready to go. 

Right on time, she sticks the report into a folder and is off to Tony’ lab. He’s working with his holographic projector when she walks in, enlarging and then shrinking a digital scan of a mechanical….something. The music is blaring, but Jarvis turns it down as she approaches the workspace. Tony immediately looks up, and waves her over.

“Hey, kid. I just got word. The solar battery prototype is through all of the testing phases. I managed to push it through the red tape. Now, I need you to liaison with marketing. And it needs a name.” 

“It’s a go?” She grins. “That didn’t take long.” 

“Pepper’s speciality is cutting red tape. I just throw money at her, and she works her magic. SI has been invited to all of the big expos this year; I need you to look over them, and pick out the ones that will best fit our market, too. Send them on to Pepper’s secretary, and she’ll post our responses.” 

“Got it.” 

“You should be proud. This was mostly you, you know.”

“Fifty-fifty, but you did all of the hard work. All I had was an idea.” 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, “but if I’ve learned anything, it’s to always trust the ideas of a woman. Especially when that woman is you or Pepper. Anyhow, I’m drawing up a contract. Fifty percent of the profits are going to you; the other fifty is being funneled into a charity that helps build low-cost housing and water filtration systems in third world countries.” 

“Tony, I don’t need--” 

“Nonsense. I don’t need it. SI doesn’t need it. Let me do this, kid.” 

Amelia sighs. “You already pay me more than enough…” 

“As a marketing analyst. If you’re going to move into R&D, too, you deserve extra perks.”

“Fine. I’ll just pad my savings account. I have to buy a new house eventually.” 

“No, you don’t.” He responds a little too quickly, earnest eyes studying her. She knows that he hopes her staying is a permanent thing. 

“Tony…” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t get to move in your boyfriend, and then just leave him here with us. It doesn’t work that way.” 

“I promise not to just abandon him.”

“See that you don’t. And speaking of Barnes… Jarvis, pull up his new file.” 

The screen is replaced by a model representation of a new uniform, still black, but this time with a black star across the chest instead of the straps and a reinforced material. Amelia walks around it in a circle. 

“Holsters and weapon storage?” 

A dozen different hidden pockets along the full length outline in blue. 

“When did you put this together?” she asks, glancing up at Tony.

“I started almost as soon as he moved in. I didn’t figure he wanted to keep wearing the Hydra-issued outfit.” 

“Tony--”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Not all of us have been wasting all of our time canoodling amnesiac super soldiers.”

“Canoodling? Really?” She laughs, making a face, and he rolls his eyes. 

“So, what’s going on there, anyhow? Are you and Barnes back to platonic pillow buddies, or are things getting hot and heavy between you? Not that I want details. The rest of us have a pool going, and--” 

Amelia tosses a dirty rag at his head, and then sits down on one of the stools. “It’s going nowhere.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

“Maybe? I mean, what sort of life do I have to offer?” 

“A pretty amazing one?” Tony sat down beside her. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid. Barnes would be lucky to have you. Maybe he’s just relying too much on his 1940s methods of wooing a woman. If you want him, you might just have to go for it. Don’t give him any opportunity to mistake your feelings.” 

“Hmm. Yeah, we’ll see.” She glances up at him. “I thought you didn’t like the thought of me with him?” 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Amy, but I’m starting to think that maybe he’s good for you.” Tony hops up from the table.

“Any changes?” he asks, gesturing to the suit. 

She approaches it again. “Outline the star in silver.” Jarvis makes the change, and she tilts her head, considering. It still wasn’t quite right. 

“Maybe a silvery blue?” Tony suggests. 

Jarvis makes the change again. 

“Now make the star silver,” Amelia offers. As soon as the change goes through, she nods, looking back to Tony. “Perfect. Double check it with him first, but I think he’s going to love it.” 

***

Bucky and Steve are both waiting by her office door when the clock finally strikes noon. Amelia says goodbye to Kate, grabs her bag, and steps out into the hallway. 

“Give me five minutes to change into something more comfortable,” she says. The boys are both wearing jeans and a tshirt, Bucky’s with long sleeves, in contrast to her business attire. 

“No hurry. I’m driving, so there’s no one waiting on us.” 

“Do I get to know what we’re doing yet?”

The men exchange a glance. “You’ll see when we get there,” Steve says.

Bucky just winks, reaching out to take her hand. “It’ll be fine, doll.” 

She shakes her head, but leads them down to her apartment, quickly slipping off to her room to change as they wait in the kitchen. She’s back five minutes later, dress pants exchanged for jeans and a sleeveless shirt. They ride the elevator down to the garage, where the boys already have a car waiting. Steve slips around into the driver’s side, and Bucky holds the passenger side door open for Amelia, letting her slide in and get settled before closing the door behind her and getting into the middle position in the back seat. 

They pull out of the garage, and Steve points the car towards downtown. Steve kept up a pleasant chatter about nothing consequential, only stopping when they pull into a parking garage somewhere near the lower east side. Bucky jumps out, one hand keeping Amelia in the car while he scans the garage. Steve catches Amelia’s eye and shrugs. 

“I don’t mind,” she assures him. A moment later, Bucky’s opening her door and helping her out, his hand settling against her lower back. Steve steps in front of them, forming a protective wall as they walk out, blinking, into the daylight. As soon as they are in the open, he moves to her other side, and Amelia looks around. 

“Wow. Haven’t been back here in a few years.” 

Bucky glances over. “Old stomping grounds?” 

“Something like that. I grew up about ten blocks from here,” she explains, pointing east. “Six blocks down Rivington, from the park.” 

“No kidding. I know where that is. Stevie, you never said that we were practically neighbors.” 

“She was born more than sixty years after us, Buck,” Steve reminds him. 

“Right. I know that.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but is a bit forced. Maybe it’s because he has swiss cheese for brains still, but he’d forgotten, just for a moment, that she wasn’t one of them. Maybe it’s just the way she fits them, or because she’s been friends with Steve for so long, so if he mentions something from the past, or if he lets some of the slang he grew up with slip out, she doesn’t stop him to ask. Or maybe it’s just because, with all of the crazy and uncertainty in his life, she feels like home. And with her and Steve both around now, he sometimes forgets. 

“Too bad, really,” Amelia says, slipping her arm in his. “I bet it would have been a lot of fun, growing up with the two of you around.” 

Bucky looks down at her, and can’t help his smile. “Yeah, doll, it would have been,” he responds. “And I coulda used the extra set of hands for all the times Steve got himself in trouble and needed a patch job before his mom came home.” 

Steve shakes his head, but smiles fondly at his friends. “Brooklyn wasn’t ready for that much excitement.” He starts down the sidewalk, Amelia and Bucky keeping pace right beside him. The first stop is a tiny deli. They sit in a back booth, and when the waitress comes around, they all place their orders. 

Bucky is relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as he ever is out in public. He sits beside Amelia, closest to the outside, facing the front doors. He can’t see the rear exits, but Steve can, so he’s willing to trust that they’re covered. Amelia glances up at them as they study the layout, but doesn’t say a word. Just opens her menu, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

He lets his gaze wander out the window, trying to imagine her growing up here. She would have ridden her bike around the park, and walked along these streets, younger and less weighed down. He remembers the young girl with braids he saw on her mantle back in Eddisburg, and he can almost see it… her walking down the streets with a group of friends, talking and laughing amongst themselves. 

The vision shifts, and he’s still seeing her, but this time with Steve and himself. Steve the way he used to be, all sharp angles and fire. Bucky the way he used to be, too, before the war and everything that came with it. Amelia wouldn’t have shied away from Steve. She probably would have gotten scraped up right with him, knowing her fondness for jumping into situations without thinking them through. 

None of the other dames would have mattered. He’d have taken her to all of the best dance halls, and he would have walked through the streets of Brooklyn, proud to have her at his side. 

“Bucky?” 

He starts, and finds Steve and Amelia both watching him anxiously. “Sorry. Just thinking.” 

“Yeah, we could tell. You were a million miles away. I called your name a half dozen times before you heard me. Anything we should worry about?” 

He shakes his head. “Nah. Just woolgathering.” He plasters on a smile. “What’d I miss?” 

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s head out.” He slips away from the table, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

They walk along the sidewalk, no particular destination in mind and a couple hours free to spend exploring. Steve is telling them about some of his and Bucky’s childhood antics, and while none of them bring back memories, he can recognize them as something that he might have done.

Bucky notices the moment Amelia drops back. He pauses, and then turns back to see what delaying her. 

She was slowly making her way past the music store, going slow enough to look at the guitars. By this point, Steve has noticed the interruption, and Bucky catches his eye and then jerks his head towards the shop. Steve nods, and heads for the store’s front entrance. 

“I was thinking about buying some bongos,” Steve tells them, pushing open the door. 

“Bongos?” Amelia glances towards Bucky, eyebrows raised, and he just shrugs, so they follow him into the store. While Steve is browsing the drum collection, Amelia’s gaze keeps wandering over towards the guitars whenever she thinks no one is watching. After a few minutes of it, Bucky wanders off to the guitar area himself, trusting that she would follow him after a moment or two. He stares at the selection, his gaze finally landing on one with a light finish. He carefully lifts it down, making his way to one of the stools and setting the instrument on his lap. He places gloved fingers on the fretboard, lightly pressing down in a random shape as he strums. 

When he glances up, Amelia is watching from a few feet away. “Are you both taking home instruments then?” she asks. 

“Maybe,” Bucky smiles. “Probably not a guitar, though. I was just curious. How do I look?” 

“It looks good in your hands,” Amelia responds. 

“You gonna try one out?” he asks.

“Uhh, probably not. I don’t really know how to play.” The way her fingers curl at the thought of holding one is telling, and it breaks his heart a little. 

“Neither do I. Go on, doll.” 

She casts him a look, but goes over to pick up a guitar from the display, moving back over to Bucky’s side to try it out. It sits easy in her arms, and her expression is thoughtful as her fingers pluck along the strings.

After a moment, she glances back up with a not-quite-indifferent shrug and stands, putting the guitar back. He catches the way her gaze lingers before she joins Steve, who is at this point actually buying a set of bongo drums. Shaking his head, Bucky sets his guitar back and wanders back over to them, just as Steve is setting an harmonica up on the counter. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks. 

Steve gives him a light smile. “Well, I thought it might be a good way to spend my down time. Sam’s been after me to find a new hobby.” 

Somehow, he doesn’t think this is quite what Sam had in mind, but he just goes with it, watching as the gal behind the counter bags up Steve’s purchases. Within minutes, they’re back out on the street. 

***(Amelia’s POV)***

Seeing Bucky and Steve out wandering the streets of New York together, teasing and joking back and forth after 70 years apart, is amazing to witness. Both men are still sharply on the lookout for any sign of a threat, but things are lighter between them. 

Every now and then, when he’s thinks no one is watching, Steve looks over to Bucky like he still can’t believe the man is alive and standing at his side. And, every now and then, Bucky gives Steve the same look.

They spend the afternoon browsing stores, picking up a few treasures here or there. Along the way, they find a huge, dusty antique store. The men spend an hour looking for things they remembered from their youth. Amelia’s halfway across the store, browsing through some books, when Steve shouts for Bucky from a few aisles over. Curious, she walks over to see him unearthing an old dusty, worn-looking, wagon from beneath a pile of blankets. 

Bucky stops beside her. “Whoa. Steve--” 

“I never thought I’d see one like this again.” He moves the last blanker, and runs his fingers carefully over the painted wood. “And it’s in great condition.” 

“You used to have one?” Amelia guesses. 

Steve nods. “My dad bought it for me. Mom found out that she was pregnant just before he had to leave for the army. He bought this the day before he left.” 

Bucky kneels down beside Steve, placing one hand on the wagon. “I remember. We used to pull it up to the top of the hill in Prospect Park, and then see how far we could go.” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Remember that one time we crashed into the pond? We had geese chasing us around for the next five minutes. It was terrifying.” 

“Are you getting it?” Amelia asks. 

Steve looks down at the wagon. “I don’t know.” 

“Steve, get the wagon.” 

“She’s saying that because she plans on buying more books than she can reasonably carry,” Bucky jokes. 

“Like you weren’t checking out half of the titles before wandering off to look at the knickknacks and toys.” 

“If you’re already buying them, I can just borrow them from you.” 

Steve looks up, amusement playing on his features. “Put the books in the wagon. We can take turns pulling it back to the car.” 

Bucky stands back up. “I have a couple things to grab. Give me a few minutes.” 

By the time they left the store, the little Radio Flyer wagon was piled full of treasures. Steve took the first turn, stooped over to reach the handle. People turn to take second and sometimes third looks as they walk by.

“Looking good, Stevie,” Bucky jokes, smirk twisting his lips. Steve glares at him, and playfully shoves at him with his free hand. 

“Jerk. I never thought I’d wish I was short again. This is ridiculous.” 

He manages a block before Amelia takes over. 

“He’s right; you look ridiculous. I’m shorter. I’ll pull it.” 

“Thank you,” he says, graciously handing it over. 

“I just don’t want to have to explain to the rest of the team that you put your back out pulling a wagon up the streets of Manhattan.” 

Bucky snorts, and even Steve cracks a smile. “Old age jokes, really?” 

She just grins.

The wagon fits in the back of the car--barely--and they all climb in. It’s going on 5:30, so Steve sets off down the road towards a restaurant. Twenty minutes later, they have a nice take-out basket, complete with a bottle of wine. 

***(Bucky’s POV)***

“One last stop,” Steve says, as he pulls back out into traffic. Bucky hid a smile, and leaned forward, settling in between the two front seats. 

The last thing on their itinerary was his idea. They’ve all spent so much time cooped up in the Tower lately, Amelia more so than him and Steve, and he knows it’s wearing on her. 

Steve turns into the park. They grab their dinners, and Bucky leads them to a grassy area overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. The Manhattan skyline stretches out before them. 

“We used to come out here sometimes when Bucky had a day off,” Steve explains, setting up their meals. 

Bucky blinks, lost in a flash of a memory. “You used to sit by the tree, there--” he turns. The tree is gone. He frowns. “There used to be a tree. You would draw the bridge.” 

Steve’s smile is wistful. “Yeah. They’ve done some landscaping since our time.” 

Bucky looks around again, images of the past superimposing over the reality of the present. “I think I liked it better before.” 

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad. Come on, our dinner is getting cold.” 

The sun is still high in the sky, and the sound of children running and laughing surrounds them as they eat. A ball rolls over, and Steve easily tosses it back, earning a smile and wave from a group of kids. 

They finish eating, and Bucky leans back on the blanket, staring up at the sky above him. Amelia is stretched out beside him, her nose in a book, while Steve works his pencil along the sketch pad. It’s nice. Quiet. Familiar. 

He closes his eyes, reaching out again for the vision he’d had earlier, with Amelia fitting in so neatly between him and Steve back in their own time. This time, he amends it. The three of them, all sprawled out on the grass, just like they are. The only thing he changes is Amelia, bringing her closer, imagining her head resting against his stomach as she reads, occasionally stopping to look up at him and smile. 

For a moment, he feels complete, like this is exactly how it’s meant to be. His best friend. His gal. Him. 

He opens his eyes, squinting at the bright sky, and then reaches out for Amelia, setting his hand over hers and lacing their fingers together. She doesn’t look up from her story, but a faint smile curls along her lips. 

There’s so much about the past that he misses. So many of his memories still gone, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to get them back. It might almost be easier, not remembering, than to get it all back and know exactly how much he lost. 

But this moment here, he commits to memory. He never wants to lose this feeling. He never wants to forget what it’s like to lay in the sunshine, holding hands with a beautiful girl while his best friend watches on.


	27. Coney Island

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.
> 
> As of this moment, Broken Chances has more than 12,000 hits. It has 200 comments that *aren't* from me, more than 550 kudos, and nearly 100 bookmarks. I am humbled by your support and belief in this story. Thank you. 
> 
> Remember when I said that Bucky and Amelia were about to go on a bit of an emotional roller coaster? By the end of this chapter, they're sitting right at the very top of a very deep drop. Things are going to get better, and they **will** get their happily ever after. But they're going to have to work for it, and it's not going to happen right away. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, and self-edited. Amelia and the mistakes are mine; everything else belongs to Marvel.

Bucky waits until the next morning when Amelia goes to work before he slips back into her bedroom and digs into the closet to find the box he rescued from her home. The blankets are moved aside with care, and he sorts through the pictures until he finds the one he needs. As soon as he has it, he puts everything back in the box, and lifts it to put it back into the closet. As he lifts it over his head, his metal arm glitches, locking in place as a sharp flash of pain tears across his nerves. 

Shifting the weight to his good arm, he lowers the box, cursing at the pain. Bucky swivels his arm in its socket, gasping as his arm finally releases with another shooting pain. Gasping, he puts the box where it belongs, sliding it back into place.

And then he goes to find Tony. 

\---

Stark is on his tablet, reading through some files, when Bucky walks in. The other man stands up when he notices him. 

“Hey, Barnes. Here for a tune-up?” The man waggles his eyebrows and looks delighted at the prospect. 

Bucky ignores the question. It was just a little glitch, and he’s here for something more important, so he walks across the lab and hands the picture to Tony. “I need you to help me find this.” 

***(Tony’s POV)***

Tony stares down at the picture. He’s seen this one before. It’s the one with Amelia and her parents in their living room, Amelia at the piano and her dad holding a guitar. And if Bucky is suggesting what Tony thinks he’s suggesting, well… 

Well. 

“What, exactly, are we looking for?” he asks, hoping he already knows the answer. 

“Her father’s guitar. I want to find it and get it back for her. She said it was sold after their deaths, and--” 

Oh, and that’s a whole kettle of fish that Tony doesn’t want to even get into. He’s guessing that there’s a lot the man doesn’t know about the situation after the Amelia lost her parents. Still, Bucky wants to try, and Tony could almost kiss him for it. “I don’t know. It’s a pretty generic guitar. They made thousands of these.” 

Anger and impatience flares in Bucky’s eyes. “Can you help me or not?” 

Tony smothers his smile. “I’ll see what I can do. Let me just scan it in, and we’ll get it started. I’m guessing Amy doesn’t know about this?” he asks, as he takes the picture and uploads it to his servers. 

“No. I want to surprise her.” 

Tony nods, and pulls the picture up on his screen, enlarging it. When he does, Bucky steps closer, pointing to the headstock. “Make this bigger. There’s a mark there.” 

Tony stretches it out. “MC. His initials. Matthew Cassidy.” 

“That’s going to make it easier, right?” 

“Theoretically. But it was sold more than a decade ago. Who knows where it is now?” 

Bucky’s shoulders slump a bit. 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t find it, though. I’ll have Jarvis start looking. It’s a long shot but… I think it’s really great that you want to try.” And Barnes looks so startled that Tony wants to laugh. “I mean it. You don’t know how much this will mean to her. I’m glad you came to me with it.” 

“Least I can do. She’s given up a lot for me. I wanna do this.” 

Tony clasps his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Barnes.” 

Bucky looks decidedly uncomfortable with the praise, but eventually gives a self-conscious shrug. “I’m trying to be.” 

“That’s what matters.” Tony lets his hand fall. “While I have you here, I’ve come up with a redesigned suit for you. Do you have time to take a look?” 

He nods, and Tony leads him over to the full-sized hologram area of his workspace. As soon as they reach it, the suit appears in front of him, and he takes a step back to get a better look at it. 

It’s black, but the leather has been replaced by a material that looks like the same stuff they made Steve’s suit out of. Reinforced. Flexible. With extra protection around the sensitive area where flesh meets metal. 

What draws his eye is the star on the chest. Silver surrounded in a deep silvery blue. Leather straps replaced by a reminder that now, when he fights, he fights for freedom. He brings his hand up to touch it, forgetting for a moment that it is just a hologram until his hand goes through it. 

“I can make any changes you need--” 

“It’s perfect,” Bucky responds, cutting him off. “How soon can it be ready?” 

***

Amelia is dressed and ready when they arrive to pick her up the following Tuesday. She’d given Kate the day off, and told Tony that she was going to be out. In case of an emergency, call someone else. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Steve asks, as they head towards the garage.

“I thought we were waiting until we got there.” 

“Right. The hot dogs.” 

_“Coneys,”_ Bucky corrects. 

“He doesn’t remember the day we met, but coneys? That, he remembers.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t ask me to explain it. Damned if I have a clue how this works. Now, are you going to keep giving me a hard time, or are we going to take our gal out and show her a good time?”

***

Standing outside Coney Island, looking over the rides and games, leaves Bucky with a weird sense of deja vu. He can’t remember exactly, but the place looks familiar. Something from a dream, once, maybe, but the reality is so much brighter and louder. He doesn’t recognize most of the rides, and the water park is definitely new. 

Steve steps into place beside him, their bag strapped across his back and a grin splitting his face. He catches Bucky’s eye, and the smile grows even bigger. “Are you ready?” 

He turns to Amelia, standing on his other side. She’s too busy taking in the sights to notice his gaze, so he turns back to Steve and nods. “I’m ready.” 

Amelia finally looks back over to them, and she’s practically bouncing on her toes. “Can we go in?” 

Bucky laughs, and puts his arm around her. “Just waitin’ on you, doll.” His other arm goes around Steve’s shoulders. To anyone watching, they’re a group of friends, just hanging out for an afternoon of excitement. When they don’t see is that, with one of them on either side, they’re keeping Bucky grounded. Even for a Tuesday, the park is crowded, and this is still only his second trip out with Steve (and his third all together) since moving into the Tower, not counting the mission. Even if the last trip went well, he was still anxious.

The first thing they do is trade the printed tickets for wristbands, and then Bucky drags them over to the rides. “Just one, before we eat?” 

Amelia shrugs. “I’m game.” 

“This one.” Steve leads them over to one that twists and spins. “This would have killed me before.” 

They get into line, and when it’s their turn, they all strap in next to each other. As soon as everyone else is in place, the ride starts up, slowly at first, and then quickly gaining speed as the twists come faster and faster. 

Steve is whooping and laughing as he spins around, and Bucky can’t help but laugh himself at the sound. He slips his hand over Amelia’s and holds as tightly as he dares. She looks over, and he sees a flicker of concern, but he just smiles back. 

She’s a bit off balance getting off the ride, staggering for a second until she gains her legs under her again. He holds her elbow on the way down the stairs, just in case, though. As soon as she’s on even ground, he releases her. 

“Well?” she asks Steve, turning to face them. 

Steve just grins, and sets his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let’s go get some hot dogs.”

“Coneys,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, but he leads them towards Nathans. The outside looks pretty similar to what he remembers, but he’s betting the coneys cost more than a nickel nowadays. 

The restaurant is crowded, families and teens, couples, groups of friends, a few tourist groups. It’s loud and hot. Bucky freezes just inside the door, feeling his chest go tight. He struggles to pull air into his lungs, gaze frantically seeking both threats and escape routes.

Amelia slips her fingers through his, angling herself between him and part of the crowd, and pulling his attention back to her. The next thing he knows, Steve is standing in front of him, one steadying hand heavy on his shoulder. 

“Buck?” 

He blinks. 

“Why don’t you and Amy go find a quiet place outside to sit? I’ll get our food, and meet you.” 

He gives a jerky nod, and Amelia presses into his side, hand at his back as she moves them back out of the building. She leads him around behind some of the games, finally stopping to face him. 

“Are you okay?” 

He nods, and hugs her, pressing his face against the side of her head. The familiar scent of her shampoo surrounds him, and he breathes deeply, letting it soothe him. He steps back after a long minute. “Sorry. The crowd…” He trails off, giving her a helpless look.

“I know. It’s fine. You’re doing great. I promise.” 

He snorts. “Don’t know about your definition of great there, doll, but this ain’t it.” 

“Sure it is. Are you ready to find a place to eat?” 

“Yeah. I thought I saw some up this way.” He takes her hand, and they head towards a mostly-empty eating area, away from the crowds. Amelia texts Steve their location, and they sit down. 

“Is it familiar at all?”

Bucky looks out over the park again. “In some ways. I don’t remember there being quite this many rides, and it’s a lot more crowded than it used to be. Wonder Wheel is still here, though.” 

Amelia follows his gaze, eyes landing on the huge ferris wheel on the other side of the park. “We’ll have to do that before we leave.” 

He turns, taking her hand with a smile. “I’m holding you to that.” 

Steve sits down beside them fifteen minutes later, handing out drinks as he does. The food ends up in a pile in the middle of the table. Bucky barely waits until Steve’s butt hits the bench before he’s reaching for his first hot dog, peeling off the wrapper and taking a bite. 

The grin on his face is worth all of the crowds. 

“Steve-- they taste the same,” he gushes, through a mouth half-full of hot dog.

Steve’s eyes light up at the unguarded glee on his friend’s face. “I’m glad, Buck. Eat up. I got plenty.” 

_That,_ Amelia thinks, _is an understatement._ There have to be almost two dozen hot dogs sitting on the table, along with four or five orders of fries. She eats two coneys and half of an order of fries, more than happy to sit and listen while Steve reminisces about the past and Bucky chimes in where he can. Before long, the food is gone, and they’re gathering up the wrappers, heading back into the crowds. 

The afternoon passed uneventfully. After eating, they spend a half hour just walking around and checking out the sights, and then they go on more rides. The Cyclone looms large over them, and there’s an unspoken understanding that they’re working their way towards it. 

Before long, they’re standing at the front of the line. Steve’s expression rests somewhere between excited and wary. Bucky’s face is a lot less expressive, but his eyes are shining. 

When they sit down, Steve takes the seat beside Amelia, and Bucky sits right in front of them, turning to grin at Steve over his shoulder as the ride starts. The cars climb towards the highest drop, and Steve pales a bit. 

“You okay?” Amelia asks. 

“I’m good! Just-- this part was always what got me before. I’m okay.” 

She nods, but slips her hand over his where it’s white-knuckling the bar in front of them. When they start the descent, though, Steve quickly loosens up, and it’s Amelia who’s holding his hand for dear life. They reach the bottom of the descent, quickly swooping back up again, and she laughs. Bucky glances back again, and Steve gives him a triumphant grin. 

They skip the haunted house, and end the day by getting in line for the Wonder Wheel. 

Bucky sits down next to Amelia, the seat swinging lightly under his weight. Steve slips into the seat in front of them, fastening the belt, and then immediately turning to face them. “This hasn’t changed at all in seventy years.”

“That’s comforting,” Amelia replies, as she watched some of the other cages swing out and slide across their tracks. 

“Nervous?” 

“I’m good.”

He sets his arm around her shoulders anyhow, ignoring Steve’s knowing look. She leans into him a bit.

“You can see the harbor and half the city from the top,” Bucky tells her. 

“It’s a stunning view. I used to try to remember what it looked like, so I could draw it later,” Steve adds. “The last time I did this, I was color blind. I’m kind of excited to see everything from the top in full color.” 

The ride starts moving again. Amelia squeals when the cage swings forward, grabbing tightly to Bucky’s hand. He tucks her closer against him until the cage stops swinging. “It’s about to get better,” he promises. “Just wait.” 

True to his word, their cage continues to move, and soon, they’re overlooking what might she imagines might be half of Brooklyn, with Manhattan just across the water. Steve turns in his seat, trying to get the best view, and Amelia can see his hands itching for a pencil and some paper. 

“This is beautiful,” Amelia says softly, staring out over the water. 

“Yeah, doll, it is.” 

Amelia turns, surprised to see Bucky staring back at her instead of at the city around them. A soft smile curls on his lips, and he reaches up to tuck an errant strand of her hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second or two against her skin.

She blushes, fighting back a goofy smile, and turns away again.

They end the evening on the beach, eating cotton candy and watching the waves roll in and out on the sand. Bucky stands behind Amelia, one arm around her waist as she leans back against him. Steve is to their left, cone of cotton candy in hand. 

Steve sets his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Might have taken us 70 years to get back here, but today was worth the wait, Buck. Thank you.” 

Bucky’s free hand wraps around Steve, tugging him in for a three-way hug. Steve holds tightly, his face tucked down against them. Caught between the two super soldiers, her arms not quite long enough to wrap around either one, Amelia can’t help but think that this is exactly where and when they’re all meant to be. Despite everything they all went through to make it here, they were home. 

***

Bucky gets a call the next morning. The suit is ready, as soon as he can come to the lab to try it on. He’s on his way towards the elevators before he even hangs up the phone. Twenty minutes later, he’s examining his reflection in the mirror. It fits. It fits perfectly. 

“Stop preening in the mirror and get out here, Barnes. I need to see if it needs any adjustments.” 

Bucky walks out of the bathroom. “It fits.” 

“Yeah, but does it fit well?” Tony walks around him, tugging this way and that at the material. “Everything looks right. Can you move in it?” 

Bucky works through a few basic maneuvers, ending with a side flip. “It’s good. Thanks.” 

“Good. I’ll have a few new weapons ready in another couple of weeks, with matching holsters.” 

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“I know. But I’m not sending you out with your old stuff, not if I can help it.” 

He nods. “Thanks, Stark.” Bucky grabs his clothes back out of the bathroom and leaves the labs, heading back for Amelia’s apartment. He drops his clothes off in the spare bedroom, and then starts towards her office. 

Kate gives him an appreciative once over. “Looking good, soldier. New clothes?” 

“Fresh from the lab.” 

“They’re nice. Go on in; I’m sure Amy’s been waiting to see them.” She winks, and Bucky laughs, walking past her desk and knocking on Amelia’s door. She calls for him to enter, and he steps inside. 

He stops just inside the door, watching as she pulls her attention from work long enough to look up at him. She freezes, eyes wandering along the lines of his protective suit, and then she stands, walking over. 

“What do you think?” she asks, running one hand over his shoulder, testing the material. 

“It’s good. Perfect. How does it look?” 

She glances up to his face, and then slowly walks around him in a circle. He’s surprised to feel the heat rising in his cheeks. She stops in front of him, fingers resting lightly on the star. A small smile twitches along her lips. “I like it. It suits you.” 

“I’m going to wear it for training this afternoon. Run through the paces with it. See how it does. But I think this is the same material as Steve’s uniform. Probably going to hold up to just about anything.” Her fingers on the star are a distraction he doesn’t understand. They are constantly touching. But her touching him when he’s in his uniform somehow feels like more. 

She steps back, and he immediately regrets the loss. 

“Are you almost done?” he questions. “I heard about this great new diner that just opened up on the fifth level and--” 

“I promised to eat lunch with Tony. The Atlanta convention is coming up next month, and I need to get him ready for it.” 

He catches his lower lip between his teeth. “Are you going with him?” 

“Yeah. It’s only for half a week, but I need to be there.” She shrugs apologetically. “I shouldn’t be long today, though, if you want to catch up after?” 

“I’ll be at the gym with Steve, if you want to come down.” 

She smiles. “I’ll be there. And, seriously, the suit looks fantastic on you. I’m looking forward to seeing it in action.” 

He grins and winks, tossing a “See ya, doll,” over his shoulder as he leaves the office. Amelia shakes her head, and gets back to work.

****

Bucky and Steve are training down in the gym a few days later when it finally happens. The shield bounces off of Bucky’s metal arm, jerking at the wired nerves, and the pain brings Bucky to his knees with a muffled curse. 

Steve drops down at his side. “Bucky?” 

Bucky can’t answer. He can barely breathe. God, it _hurts_. He’s gasping, and Steve’s hand settles on his shoulder. Bucky jerks back in pain. 

“Don’t!” 

Steve backs up a few feet, and Bucky gets a glance at his heartbroken, worried expression. “Hang on, pal. You’re going to be okay. Jarvis, get medical down here.” 

“NO!” he gasps. “No, it’s fine. I just-- I just need a minute. Please.” He rocks back, coming to a seated position, his metal arm held carefully against his chest, and drops his head back onto the wall behind him. 

“What’s going on, Bucky?” Steve’s voice is low and dangerous. Bucky’s guessing that he’s already figured out the problem.

“My arm. It’s...malfunctioning.” 

“From the EMP?” 

“That’s what started it.” 

Bucky expects a lecture. Heaven knows, he deserves one, so he’s caught off guard when Steve drop down beside him, careful not to touch him, and stares at the tops of his knees. 

“Has it been hurting this whole time?” 

“On and off. Kinda thought it was getting better.” 

“Is it something that Tony can fix, or do you need a doctor?” 

“Tony, probably. I just don’t wanna be a burden. He’s done a lot for me already.” 

Steve set a careful hand on his leg. “He’s not gonna mind, pal. I promise. You’ll probably make his day. Why don’t you head on up? I’m gonna shower real quick, and then I’ll join you. We’ll get this taken care of today.” 

Bucky nods. Steve surges to his feet, and then reaches down to pull Bucky up by his good arm. The pain is already less than it was, so while Steve heads for the showers, he gets changed into a pair of jeans and a tshirt, and then gets Tony’s location from Jarvis.

Five minutes later, Bucky walks into the lab, rubbing absentmindedly at the wrist of his prosthetic. Amelia looks up from her tablet. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Hey. Umm, is Stark here?” 

Tony pops out from behind a row of cabinets. “What’s up, tin man?”

He has a smear of grease along one cheek, and his hair is sticking up at odd angles. Amelia tosses him a rag. 

“I was wondering if you might have time at some point to look at my arm. There’s something malfunctioning.” 

Tony’s eyes light up. “I have time right now. Come on in and take a seat next to the work bench.” 

Bucky eyes the metal table warily before walking over to sit down on a cushioned stool. He grips the seat with his flesh hand, trying to keep calm. Amelia walks over and pulls around another stool. “Mind some company?” 

Bucky shakes his head, and pulls his fingers from the seat and reaches for her hand instead. “Steve’s coming up, too,” he tells her. “Just needed to get a quick shower.” 

Tony sets a toolset down beside Bucky’s arm. “While we wait, why don’t you tell me what we’re looking at here. What’s not working?” 

He holds his arm out, twisting it this way and that. As he moved it, there were faint grinding noises, and he grimaces as a fissure of pain cuts across the remaining nerve endings. His elbow sticks at one point. 

“Right. I’m assuming your arm received regular maintenance before?” 

“Before and after missions. The ice sometimes caused problems.” 

“And now, it’s been three months since the last time?” 

Bucky nods. 

“Is there anything I should know before I go in there?” 

He shakes his head, but then stops, and after a pause, gives a single nod. “It hurts sometimes.” 

Tony pulled back and looked at him. “I can give you something to block the pain.” 

“That’s how they knew if they were in the right place. If I could feel it. And they didn’t have any that would work with my metabolism.” 

Tony cursed under his breath. “We’re finding a better way. I don’t need feedback for a minor cleaning and repair. Jarvis?” 

“Yes, Sir?” 

“Get Bruce up here. Tell him that Barnes needs an anesthetic.” He turns back to Bucky. “I’d like to believe that I have a better bedside manner than HYDRA. Not by a lot, maybe, so don’t go expecting flowers, but a little bit.” 

Bucky huffs a laugh in spite of his nervousness. 

“Let’s get some music playing. Barnes, what sounds good? A mix of 30s and early 40s? Something more modern? What’s going to work for you?” 

“Older. Somethin’ I could dance to.” A song starts up, one he remembers, and he nods. 

“Jarvis, get me a schematic of the arm. Here, Bucky, just hold it out, alright? Can you do that, or would it be better to have it supported?”

He holds his arm out, and a series of lights roll over it. Moments later, a 3D image of his arm appears over a nearby work table. Tony goes over, and starts fiddling around, introducing himself to the setup before he actually gets in there. Bucky watches him for a long moment, and then turns to Amelia. 

“I’m not keeping you from work?” 

“Nothing that can’t wait.” She rubs her thumb over his the back of his hand. “Tony talks tough, but he’s really good at what he does. He’s going to give you the best possible care.” 

He forces a smile to his lips, but he’s still trying to keep from up and leaving. The thought of anyone poking around in his arm brings back instinctive feelings of terror. 

The door hisses open, and Steve walks in, giving Bucky a once-over. “Hey, pal. You haven’t started without me?” 

“We’re waiting on Bruce, too. He’s bringing up a nice little cocktail of goodies that should keep Frosty here from feeling anything while I work.” 

Steve casts a grateful look towards Tony. “That’s okay with you?” he asks, turning his attention back to his friend. 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. You’ll both be here.” _So I know I’m safe,_ goes unspoken, but not unheard, to go by the way Amelia’s hand tightens on his for a moment and Steve sets a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“We’ve got you,” Steve says softly. 

“I know.” He forces a smile to his lips, but at the same time, he feels his fingers trembling slightly in Amelia’s grasp. Tony is a friend, nearly. At the very least, he’s been nothing but supportive since Bucky climbed into the helicopter beside Amelia a little over a month ago. There’s nothing to be afraid of, no threat. 

But before, maintenance came before the chair, and then came the ice, or whatever horrors HYDRA wanted him to commit that day. And he can’t escape the conditioned fear. 

Bruce finally makes it up to the lab, IV bag in hand. He gives Bucky a shy wave as he walks in. After greeting everyone, he starts setting up the IV stand. “This should be strong enough to give Tony about half an hour.” 

“So, I have to work quickly. Amelia, set up a timer. Bucky, the first hint of anything, whether it hurts or not, I need you to tell me. None of the strong and silent crap, got it?” 

Bucky nods, a quick jerking movement. 

“No, I need you to say it. I need to trust that you’ll tell me.” 

“I’ll tell you if I feel anything.” 

Tony comes back over. “Bruce?” 

“Got it. Okay, Bucky, I’m going to put this in your opposite arm. You’re going to feel numb in about five minutes. There’s also a light sedative in the mix, not enough to put you under, but enough to help with the anxiety. Now, I’d really prefer it if you would move over into the recliner or even the couch. It’s going to be harder for Tony to do this if you fall over.” 

Visions of the chair dance across his memory, and he suppresses a shudder. “I won’t.” 

Tony glances up to Steve, and he nods.

“Alright, let’s get started.” 

Bruce swabs off the crook of Bucky’s arm. “Quick pinch,” he apologizes. Bucky takes a breath and watches as the needle goes in. After securing the line, Bruce steps back. “I’ll stay, just to monitor.” 

Steve takes up his place beside Amelia, right in Bucky’s line of sight, as Tony grabs his tools and starts to set up. Bucky can feel the medication working through his system, releasing some of the tension and leaving him comfortably numb. He can just barely feel Amelia’s hand in his, but he can still see where their fingers are joined, and that’s almost as good. 

“Everyone ready? Barnes?” 

“‘m good,” he responds. Tony nods, and uses a small screwdriver to open up the first plate. Bucky watches for a moment, swallowing hard against a rising swell of panic. 

“Hey, Buck? Look at me,” Steve instructs. Bucky tears his gaze away from his arm. “Do you remember that time you took that brunette--Rachel--out dancing, and convinced her to bring a friend for me?” 

Bucky shakes his head, but then stops as he catches a glimpse of the girl in his mind. “Rosie.” 

“Rosalyn Baker. One of the prettiest girls in town.” Steve flashes a self-depreciating smile. “She didn’t want anything to do with me; spent all night trying to catch your attention.” 

Bucky thinks back. “I don’t really remember. But, that happened a lot?” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, it did. No surprises there. But this time, she mentioned that it wasn’t fair that her friend got you, while she was set up with a cripple.” 

Amelia’s eyes narrow, and Bucky’s gaze flick darker for a second. “We left the girls at the dance hall, and went to go watch a movie.” He thinks back. “The Hound of Baskervilles.” A smile works its way onto his face. “I didn’t think I’d sleep for a week after that.” 

“You stayed over that night. We camped out in the living room, both of us afraid to actually go to bed.” 

“I remember. When Mr. Benson’s dog started howling downstairs in the middle of the night, I thought we were goners.” 

“Well, I asked Jarvis this morning, and it turns out that Tony has it in his collection. I thought, maybe tonight, if you’re interested, we could watch it again.” 

“Sounds good. You watchin’ it with us, doll?” he asks, turning to Amelia. 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

His gaze turns back to his arm. Tony is cleaning out some of the gears, and adjusting a few wires. He still doesn’t feel anything. 

“How are you holding up?” Bruce asks. 

“I’m okay. I can’t feel a thing.” 

“Good,” Tony replies. “I’m nearly done here. I need you to make a fist.” He does, tentatively moving his wrist a bit as he does so. The servos are nearly silent, and the plates slip effortlessly over and against each other. 

“Better?” Tony asks.

“Much.” 

“Good. We still have another ten minutes on the clock, so I’m going to keep going.” He moves up to another panel. Bucky glances back at Steve, who gives him an encouraging smile, and then to Amelia, who reaches forward, pushing a bit of hair from his face. It’s a steady reminder of where he is, and more importantly, where he isn’t. 

Bing Crosby croons “I’ve Got A Pocketful of Dreams,” and Bucky can remember watching his mom dancing and singing the song around the kitchen with Becky while he watched on, laughing at their antics. The memory brings a smile to his face, and he glances at Steve. 

“My mom loved this song.” 

Steve’s smile is a little sadder. “Yeah, Buck, she did.” 

He tries to follow the memory, but it skitters away, so he lets his attention drift back to his arm. Tony’s welding something back together, and then he starts replacing a few wires, and Bucky can just see the man’s brain working overtime, and bets he’s probably biting his tongue pretty hard by now to keep from offering improvements. 

Finally, Tony closes the last panel, and glances over at the clock. Two minutes to spare. “Alright, give it a go.” 

Bucky works his metal arm through a series of movements, and maybe it’s because he still can’t feel a thing, but there’s no pain, no sharp jolts along his nerves, and the arm moves better than it has in a few years. Each twist and turn is seamless. 

“Thank you.”

“I saw a few places in there that could use an upgrade or two, if you ever feel up to it. I can make it better.”

Bucky just nods. “Someday, maybe.” 

“Good enough. You just sit there for as long as you need to. I’m getting back to work on my other projects.” 

Tony wanders off, and Bruce takes out the IV and wanders off back to his own lab, leaving Steve, Bucky, and Amelia around the table. Steve pulls over a chair, and takes up space on his other side. 

“Holding up?” Steve asks. 

“Better than I thought I would be.” He feels a little woozy, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Steve hands him a bottle of water, and he accepts it gratefully. “I’m just glad it’s over. No offense to Stark. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to getting my arm looked at.” 

“You did great,” Amelia assures him, squeezing his hand lightly. “We’re proud of you.” 

It takes about half an hour for the last of the effects of the medication to wear off. Tony calls Amelia over to help out with something, and Steve and Bucky head back down to the apartments.

The elevator doors close, and it begins its descent. Steve opens his mouth to speak just as they hear the familiar sounds of an explosion. Steve slams on the stop button. “Jarvis, get us back up there.”

“Affirmative, Captain Rogers.” 

“Status on Amelia,” Bucky demands. 

The door opens as Jarvis begins his reply, but Bucky is out the door and down the hall before he can hear it, Steve close on his heels. There are heavy glass doors standing between him and the lab. The actual doors to the laboratory were shattered in the blast. Beyond them, he can see smoking debris, and flames coming off of one of Tony’s creations. Tony is crumpled against the wall, blood along one cheek from a small gash in his forehead, He stirs, and Bucky continues looking around the room for Amelia. 

“There,” Steve says, pointing. Bucky can make out Amelia’s sneakered feet--unmoving--behind a counter. 

“Open the doors,” Bucky commanded. 

“I am unable to override the progr--” 

Bucky punched against the glass. It cracked. He pulled back to do it again, only to have Steve grab his arm. 

“Bucky, stop. We don’t know if there are any contaminants in there--” 

Bucky shrugged him off. This time his fist went through the glass. He kept going until he could reach the override button. He jerked his arm free as the doors slid open, and bolted through, ignoring the destroyed machinery as he crouched down at Amelia’s side. 

There was a piece of equipment laying across her chest. He yanked it off, tossing it to the side. Other than a cut on her forehead, and abrasions along her collarbone from the chunk of metal, she seemed uninjured, but the unnatural stillness terrified him.

“Amelia.” He touched her shoulder, careful not to move her. “Amelia,” he repeated, a bit more insistently. 

***

“ _Amelia._ ”

She groaned, and opened her eyes. “Oww.” It took a moment for her eyes to focus. There’s a persistent pressure on her shoulder, and she turns her head enough to see Bucky staring down at her. 

“‘m okay.” 

“Don’t move.” 

She looks up, recognizing the dark look in his eyes. “I’m okay,” she repeats, as his hands ghost over her, searching for injuries. She reaches up, curling her fingers around his. “It’s okay.” She moves to sit up, and he uses his other hand to press her back down. 

“Don’t. Move.” 

“He’s right,” Steve says, walking over. “The force could have given you blast injuries.” 

The Soldier tenses, eyes narrowing as he looks up at the perceived threat.

“Steve,” Amelia warns, “go check on Tony.” 

“Tony’s awake. He’s fine. He asked me to check on you.” 

Amelia runs her hand over the back of the Soldier’s hand in an effort to soothe him. He doesn’t look back down at her, but she feels some of the tension leave his muscles. “Go back over and tell him I’m fine.” 

Steve hesitates, and then seems to realize what is happening. He nods, and backs away, hands held out a few inches from his sides. As soon as he’s cleared the area, the Soldier looks back to Amelia. 

“Medical help is on the way,” Jarvis supplies helpfully. The Soldier nods sharply. 

Amelia squeezes his hand. “Sweetheart, I’m okay. I’ve had worse, I promise.” Sweetheart feels a bit odd on her tongue, but truthfully, she’s still not one hundred percent sure how to address this side of him. His eyes widen a bit at the endearment, and then he turns his hand in hers, grasping it tightly and decisively. 

“You matter. Be careful.” 

She nods, and she reaches up her other hand to touch the side of his face. “I know. You, too. And thanks for looking out for me.”

A smile flickers across his lips. “ _Всегда_. Always.” He presses his cheek into her hand and takes a shuddering breath. His demeanor changes as the Soldier releases Bucky. He wobbles for a second before meeting Amelia’s eyes. 

“I’m fine, just a bump, but the medics are on their way. Everything is okay.” 

Bucky’s hand shakes over hers, but his gaze is clear. “Tony?” 

“I’m fine,” Tony calls from across the room. “Your back to you now, right? Because I’ve heard stories, and I don’t think I’m up to-- Ow! What the hell, Cap?”

Amelia hears Steve’s whispered warning, and Bucky just rolls his eyes. “You sure you’re okay, doll?” 

“Yeah. Not looking forward to the headache I’m going to get later, though.” She twists her lips up a bit, and he gently touches near the source of the pain. His fingers come away with blood on them, and he frowns. She sees a hint of panic in his gaze as he stares at the red staining his fingertips, so reaches out again to take his hand. “Hey, I’m okay. I’ve probably done worse shaving.” 

Turbulent blue eyes meet hers. “I thought--” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “You weren’t moving.” 

“It’ll take more than one of Tony’s projects to take me out, I promise. I’m okay, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The medical team comes in, and Bucky reluctantly moves back. Steve comes over, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “You good?” 

“Yeah. Fine.” He watches as they load her on a stretcher, despite her protests. Across the room, Tony is getting the same treatment, complaining more than Amelia is. 

“Okay. Come on, we’ll follow her down, alright?” Steve suggests, keeping a steady hand on his back. Bucky nods, and lets Steve lead him along the hallway. He stands beside Amelia in the elevator, her hand curling around his. His world narrows to that point of contact, and it takes Steve’s hand at his elbow to get him moving again when the elevator doors open. 

They stand and wait while she is taken into an MRI to look for any internal damage. Steve tries a few different times to get him talking, but he can’t speak around the lump in his throat. All he could think, between the explosion and the sight of the debris laying across her chest, was that he’d lost her. 

He doesn’t breathe easily again until she’s brought back out, in a wheelchair and not on a stretcher. Bucky is the first to her side. She reaches her hand up, and he helps her to her feet. 

“I’m fine. Bump on the head, a bit of bleeding, and a mild concussion. Nothing to worry about. And Tony just needed stitches.” 

He doesn’t respond at first, just pulls her against him, arms folding tightly around her. She sets her head on his shoulder, and he can smell the smoke from the explosion in her hair. 

“Ready to go home?” he asks gently. She nods against him. Bucky catches Steve’s gaze and nods towards the exit, letting him know where they were heading, and then he steps a bit to the side, keeping one hand along Amelia’s shoulders as he guides her from the room.They get on the elevator, and he feels her shaking slightly, and then feels the way she tenses up, trying to hide it from him. He pretends not to notice, but gently pulls her a little closer to him. Finally, they reach the safety of her apartment, and he turns her to face him, hands resting on her shoulders. “Amelia?” 

Her smile is tired. “I’m okay. I just hate doctors and needles and...stuff. It’s fine.”

She’s still shaking, her eyes just a bit too wide. He tucks her against him, rubbing her back as she presses her face into his shoulder. “I know. I’ve got you. You’re okay now.” 

Bucky brings her around to the couch and sits down beside her, gently pulling her up and onto his lap. She tucks her face against his neck, and he holds on. 

For a moment, he’s warring with the Soldier, the side of himself that is demanding that they do a better job of keeping her safe. Bucky feels him, somewhere just beneath his skin, nearly all of the time, but the only time his darker half pushes to the front anymore is when Amelia is involved.

He doesn’t mind. The Soldier has all of his strengths and none of his weaknesses, with the exception of the woman curled up in his arms. Falling into the other self, letting go of his constraints and re-emerging as someone with a much more flexible set of rules when it came to keeping the people he cared about safe, was something he could learn to live with.

The Soldier cared for Amelia. He’d die to protect her, and would destroy anyone who dared to hurt her. And that’s all Bucky needs to know. 

“I’m okay, Bucky.” 

“I know. Just stay here a bit longer, doll.” 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she says, and he huffs a soft laugh. 

“Worry me all you want. But, seriously, do you have to work with Stark? I’d be the first to admit I’m a bit biased about labs, but his seem especially dangerous.”

“It’s not a Tuesday unless something’s blowing up?” she teases. “I might get banged up or singe off some arm hair, but Tony won’t let me stick around if there’s anything really dangerous going down.” 

“That’s not as comforting as you seem to think it is.” 

She hums, and lets her head settle back on his shoulder. 

Steve shows up a half hour later, pizzas and ice cream in hand. Tony is right behind him. Amelia slips into the seat beside him, but Bucky keeps an arm over her shoulders, not ready to let her go. And if he glares at Tony as he sits down on the other side of her, no one says anything. And he’s not going to feel bad about it. 

Steve sets the pizzas on the coffee table, the ice cream in the freezer, and grabs plates and drinks for everyone from the kitchen. He sits down near Amelia’s legs, resting his head against her knee. As soon as everyone has their food, Jarvis starts up The Hounds of Baskerville. 

Bucky looks over at one point to see Tony nearly asleep, resting on Amelia’s shoulder, and fights the urge to flick the older man in the ear to wake him back up again. The only reason he doesn’t is because Amelia is still sitting at his side, her hand resting on his leg as they watch the movie. 

At one part she jumps, hiding her face in his shoulder. In the process, she disrupts Tony, who wakes with a start. Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his smirk; just presses his lips to Amelia’s temple. Steve reaches up and sets his hand over her knee, rubbing his thumb along the side of her leg. 

Tony blinks a couple times before falling back to sleep. 

When the movie is over, Steve heads back to his apartment. Tony is still asleep, half laying on Amelia’s lap. Bucky gives him an annoyed stare, but the contrary man just sleeps through it. 

“Get up grab me a pillow and blanket from the closet. I’ll slide out and get him settled, alright?” 

“He’s staying?” Bucky asks, eyebrows raising.

“Not the first time. Pepper’s still out of town, and he’ll sleep better here than on his own tonight.” 

Bucky stifles a sigh, and goes to do as she asked. By the time he gets back, Amelia is just about free. She slips the rest of the way out from beneath Tony, situates the pillow beneath his head, and covers him lightly with the blanket. 

“Jarvis, keep an eye on him, please.” 

“Will do, Miss Cassidy.” 

After checking on Tony one last time, Amelia follows Bucky into their room, where he holds her closely, reminding himself that she is still there and still safe. 

He wakes a few hours later with a muffled scream, Amelia already reaching for him as he sits up, gasping and twisted in sweat-soaked sheets. 

“Bucky,” she says softly, her hand resting over his heart as he struggles to breathe, “Bucky, look at me.” 

He looks up through blurred vision. “Amelia.” 

“Right here. Follow my breathing, alright? Nice and slow. I’ve got you.” 

His hands knot into the sheets, and he’s vaguely aware of a tearing sound, but he eventually matches the rhythm of her breathing. Twenty minutes later, there are fresh sheets on the bed, and he’s staring up at the ceiling, struggling to find the words he needs.

“Steve was my last mission.” 

She rolls over to face him. He can’t make himself do the same. Can’t watch her face as he speaks. 

“Bucky?” 

Shame rolls through him, leaving him nauseous and shaky. He knew it was a conditioned response, knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of, but it still curled around his heart like ice. “He was my last mission,” he repeats. “They never said, not at first, but--- I knew.” 

“I don’t understand.” Her arm comes across him, settling over the hand he has resting on his stomach. He turns his hand until he’s holding hers. 

“Seventy years of hiding in shadows. Seventy years as a ghost. They had me try to take out Fury downtown in broad daylight, and then Steve the next day on the bridge. No more hiding. It didn’t matter who saw my face. Didn’t matter if Steve recognized me. Not when they were so close.” 

“The mask?” 

He nods. “Steve was my last mission. When Project Insight went live, I would be made redundant. I was the inferior weapon, and I was being replaced.”

He knows the moment that she understands what he was saying. She takes a ragged breath, and her grip on his hand tightens. 

“When did you know?” 

“I don’t-- I don’t know. When I was sent after Fury, I knew that something was different, but I couldn’t figure out what. With Steve, I- I think I might have suspected. The last day, though, I knew. They didn’t need to muzzle me. They didn’t want me to hide. I heard them saying that it was poetic,” he spits the word, “us going down together like that, and me being the poor idiot who didn’t have a clue. If Steve didn’t kill me, then Insight was set to destroy me the moment I made it free of the helicarriers.”

There’s a long moment of silence. His heart is pounding. Amelia lays still at his side for a moment, her thumb ghosting across the back of his hand the only sign that she heard. And then she leans in, and gently presses a kiss to his temple. 

“I’m so glad that you’re here with us.” She lays back down, and he turns to her, pulling her into his arms, trying to push back the memories. He’d been confused, and so scared. He thought maybe, maybe, if he completed the mission, if he took out the target, the man whose face caused him so much pain, then maybe they would spare him, even knowing that he wouldn’t survive the day. The hope was a sharp knife in his chest, twisting a little more with each moment. He was a weapon, and he was being destroyed. A gun didn’t weep when it was decommissioned. He had outlived his usefulness, and that was it. 

He hadn’t wanted to die.

“It’s over. You’re safe, and they can’t hurt you anymore.” She whispers the words against his skin, and he doesn’t realize that he’s crying until she wipes the tears from his cheeks.

It feels like he’s breaking in half, and he doesn’t understand. He should be over all of this. The worst was supposed to be over. So, why did he feel like the last few weeks had brought so much of it up again? 

***

“You’re expecting too much of yourself.”

Bucky gave the computer screen a doubtful look. “I know. I know it’s supposed to be slow. I know it takes time. But this is-- I’m a mess.” 

Sam shakes his head. “Dude. You’re fine. Seriously. Cut yourself some slack.It takes time to heal from what you went through, alright? And that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a process. You’re going to have setbacks. Stupid things are going to set you off. The only thing you can do is take a breath, acknowledge your feelings, and not give up. Talk to someone, if that helps, or reach out to me. And Steve and I are setting up interviews with the first few potential therapists for next week. I think that’ll help, too.” 

“I know.” 

“Have you been talking to Steve?” 

Bucky shrugs, and looks away uncomfortably. 

“I’ve gotta be honest with you, Barnes. When it comes to people who understand what it’s like to wake up in a world you don’t understand, Steve is the only person I know who has been there, too. It might be worth it to take a chance and open up to him a bit. He understands all the crazy you two, and the rest of the commandos, were up against back in the day, too. The 1940s were a whole lot more insane than anyone ever mentioned in the textbooks.” 

At this, Bucky snorts. “Yeah, the books got a lot wrong.”

Sam smiles a bit. “You’re going to have good days. You’re going to have bad days. You’re going to have bad weeks. The important thing is that you reach out and keep connected. You’re not doing this alone. And it’s more than just Steve and Amy. We’ve all got your back.” 

Bucky nods sharpy. “I know.” 

“Good. Just keep reminding yourself of that. In fact, talk to Steve. Maybe he can organize a guys-only event. Let you get acquainted with Tony, Thor, and Barton a little better. And if you wait until this weekend, I can come up, too.” 

“Yeah. That sounds...good.” 

Sam’s smile is open and friendly. Not as earnest as Steve’s, but he can trust that the man doesn’t mean him any harm, and that’s a big deal. That kind of trust doesn’t come easily to him anymore. 

“I’m proud of you, man. Reaching out like this, it’s a big step. You need to give yourself more credit. Listen, I gotta run. I have a session that I have to get ready for. But feel free to call later if you’d like, alright?” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Sam.” 

“Not a problem, Barnes. I’ll talk to you soon.” 

The screen flickers to black, and Bucky closes the application. And then, he sets off to find Steve. It was time they talked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? This chapter was extremely long, so if you got through it all, give yourself a well-deserved pat on the back. And a cookie.
> 
> So... I have a confession to make. Around the same time I originally started writing Broken Chances (months before I started posting any of it), I began work on a complicated Steve/OC fic. It has time travel, and pre-serum Steve, and whenever I get stuck on Broken Chances, I go over to that one, and write a bit more. 
> 
> I've been playing with the idea of posting it, at least the first chapter or two, and seeing what people think. I feel a little goofy posting two OC stories, but I haven't seen any others out there quite like this one, and I think you might all enjoy it. It won't be taking the place of Broken Chances, but I have enough of that one done (once I figure out the posting order) to keep regular updates up for quite a while without needing to spend a whole lot of time writing in it.
> 
> I also have a Bucky/Darcy/Steve soulmate fic (that I started the same time as the others) in the works where Darcy's a mutant, and trying really hard to keep anyone from finding out. That one needs a little more work before I'm ready to share it, though. 
> 
> Anyhow, I'm not quite sure what I'm going to call it yet, but I'm editing through the first chapter in the early part of this week, and will be posting it shortly, so keep an eye out.


	28. Coming Clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short, by my standards. It's the first part of the chapter I was supposed to be posting. The second half is moving a little slower. It's emotional. And it sucks to write. But it's coming. 
> 
> In the meantime, I have a 85% complete Memorial Day chapter for Broken Chances (The Rest of the Story) that should be going up in the next day or two, only almost two weeks late. But it's really sweet, and I'm looking forward to sharing it. 
> 
> For anyone who is also reading If Once I Fell for You, the next chapter is nearly ready. It should be up by this weekend. The Memorial Day fic derailed things a bit, but I didn't want to let it pass (or let it get too far past...) without doing something. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the great comments, kudos, bookmarks, and for just taking the time out of your day to read this. I appreciate you all, and the comments always brighten my day. 
> 
> As always, I own Amelia and all of the mistakes. Everything else belongs to Marvel.

The morning after the lab explosion, Amelia wakes up early, slips out from beneath Bucky’s arm, and quietly pads her way out into the living room. Tony is still, blessedly, asleep, the blanket twisted around his legs. 

A glance at the clock tells her that he’s been sleeping for nearly eight hours, an anomaly for the man who can exist off three or four hours every other night when he’s in an inventive streak. She’s seen the dark circles under his eyes in the past few weeks, and has never been more grateful for whatever pain medication the doctors gave him the day before. 

Amelia heads into the kitchen, quickly washing and cutting several different kinds of fruit, tossing them all into a bowl with a bit of honey. She’s just setting it into the fridge when she hears Tony mumble in his sleep, and then tumble from the couch with a thud when he can’t get his legs loose right away. 

She makes it out just as he’s standing up, still extracting himself from the blanket. He glances up and gives her a small smile. “Morning, kid.” 

“Good morning. Sleep alright?” 

“Until your couch tried to kill me, yes. How’s your head? Barnes take care of you last night?” 

“I’m fine.” She crosses the room the rest of the way, pushing floppy brown bangs aside to check his stitches. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m-- I’m fine. Umm--” he trails off, then takes a breath. “About yesterday. I’m-- If I had known there was even a chance of that happening, I wouldn’t have asked you to help. I’m sorry. You got hurt, and I-” 

“Hey.” She turns his face a bit, forcing him to look at her. “Stop. It wasn’t your fault, and we’re both okay. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“I’m still sorry.” 

She nods and puts her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. “I know.” 

He holds her tightly for several seconds, before stepping back. “Don’t go to work today. We’ll go out. Maybe hit up that Korean place you like? You’ve been working so hard, and between that and Barnes, I haven’t seen much of you. I thought, maybe, if you have the time, today, we could just hang out?” 

He meets her gaze, and she sees all of the doubt and loneliness he was trying to hide. Guilt nearly chokes her. 

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go out. We haven’t done that in a while.” 

He gives her a relieved smile. “It’s a date, kid.” 

“Come on, I made fruit salad.” 

***(Bucky’s POV)***

Bucky wakes up to a half-empty bed, and the sound of laughter coming through the closed bedroom door. Amelia and...Tony. He rolls out of bed with a groan, grabs a sweatshirt from his stack in the dresser, and tugs it over his head as he wanders out. 

Amelia and Stark are sitting at the kitchen island. Tony’s popping grapes up into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth while Amelia cheers him on. The older man looks ten years younger than he did the night before, slipping pale and overwrought onto the couch beside Amelia. 

Bucky stands near the hallway, watching until Tony glances his way. “Hey, Robocop. You coming in, or just holding that doorway up?”

Amelia spears a piece of fruit with her fork before turning around. “Morning. I hope we didn’t wake you.” 

He shakes his head. “I was up.” 

“We have fruit, or I can make you something, if you’d prefer.” 

“Fruit’s fine, thanks. Did you sleep okay?” He asks, grabbing a bowl and fork, then sitting down next to Amelia. He reaches out, lightly running his hand across her upper back, and she leans into his touch. 

“I slept great,” Tony cuts in. “If anybody cares.” 

Amelia smiles over at Tony, and then sets her hand on Bucky’s leg. “I slept fine. Thank you.” 

He squeezes her shoulder, and then helps himself to some of the fruit, using the metal arm while Stark watches on.

“No more glitches? Everything working alright? I mean, not that there will be any problems. I’m just asking to be polite.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Not talkative in the morning?” 

“How are you so chatty? You don’t really strike me as a morning person.” 

Tony shrugs. “I had my assistant bring over some coffee.” He picks up the to-go cup and shakes it. “If you know what you’d like, I can have one delivered for you, too.” 

Bucky turns his gaze to Amelia. “You let this assistant in?” 

“Relax, Barnes. She wasn’t in any danger. And my assistant is top-notch. I don’t let just anyone into my tower.” 

Bucky notices the man clenching his jaw, and could see how hard he was trying to hold his tongue, so he lets a smirk cross his face. “Besides me, you mean?” 

Tony’s eyes go comically wide, and he looks to Amelia while pointing at Bucky. “He said it. Not me. See? It wasn’t me.” 

Bucky cracks up laughing, and Amelia elbows him playfully. “Don’t encourage him.” 

Truthfully, it feels good to laugh after the past week or two, between the explosion, the mission, and everything else. 

Tony and Amelia leave soon after, off to start their day. Bucky sits down on the couch, and sends a quick text to Sam. 

_Bucky: Do you have time to talk?_

***

Steve is in the shower when Bucky lets himself into his apartment. Their apartment, technically, even if it still felt more like Steve’s. _Talk to Steve,_ Sam said. Like it wasn’t something he’d been trying to do for the last month. 

He sits down on the couch for a few minutes before he stands up, pacing as he tries to rehearse what he wants to say. By the time Steve opens the bathroom door, hair still wet, Bucky has worked himself into a near-panicked state. 

The smooth explanation, the practiced words, fly out the window as the panic takes over. He’s already breathing heavily, and he can feel an anxious sweat break out across his face and neck.

Steve takes one look at him, and frowns in concern. “Bucky? What--” 

“I remembered you, on the bridge. And then, I didn’t, but when you were on the helicarrier, I did again. But I remembered that remembering, it-- it _hurt_. And I remembered-- Zola told me you died. You crashed the plane; he even brought me a newspaper to prove it. That-- That destroyed me, but it was the first thing I remembered, and I didn’t understand how you could be dead in the past, and alive now, and it hurt, and I killed Tony’s parents. I did so many horrible things, things you would hate me for. I just couldn’t stop, and even now, I have bad moments more than I admit to. The EMP-- I almost lost it. And killing you, that was my last mission; I was being destroyed after, if you didn’t kill me first, and---”

“Whoa.” Steve cuts into his fast-paced monologue. “Whoa, hey. Bucky, you need to breathe.” He carefully approaches Bucky, setting a hand on his chest, right over his racing heart. Bucky takes a few gasping, shuddering breaths, and then starts sobbing. 

“I thought you were dead, Steve. They told me you were dead. I fought them. I fought for so long, but without you, I knew no one was ever going to come for me. I-- I didn’t know how to keep fighting. Not without you.” 

He feels strong arms pulling him in close, and he clings back, face pressed against his best friend’s shoulder. 

“I’m real. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, pal. It’s okay now. I’ve got you.” The words are whispered against the side of his head, and they just make him cry harder. Seventy years of repressed grief and fear, and he can’t seem to stop it now that the dam is busted open. 

He hadn’t believed Zola. Not at first. If years of a pneumonia, fevers, and every other illness that went through, boot camp, Erskine’s experiment, and over a year leading the Commandos couldn’t kill him, how could he just go down in a plane over the Atlantic. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near there. 

But then the news reports were tossed into his cell. The loss of Captain America had shocked the world. And Bucky? 

Bucky realized at last that there would be no rescue attempt. His best friend was dead. No one was coming for him. And by that point, missing one arm and tortured into delirium on a regular basis, he had no hope of escaping on his own. And he tried to hold on. He really did. But heartbroken and alone, he finally cracked. 

Things got a little fuzzy after that. 

But, seventy years later, and everything has changed. Steve is here, not sunk at the bottom of a watery grave. His arms, so much stronger than they used to be, are holding Bucky together, helping to heal some of the still-broken places. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. God, Buck, if I’d had even an inkling that you might have survived that fall, I would have found you. I swear it.” 

Bucky nods against Steve’s shoulder. “I know, pal. I knew it then, too. I knew you wouldna left me, not if you could help it.” He sniffles and pulls back. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, jerk. I’m glad you came to me. And I’m sorry that they used me to hurt you. I didn’t-- I-- If I had known, I--” 

“If this is where you apologize for being an idiot and crashing a damn plane--one that you didn’t even know how to fly--into ice water not even a week after I fell? Stow it. Amelia explained what was at stake, but you’re still a friggin’ idiot, Rogers. Didn’t think to even give Peggy your coordinates? Or maybe hold out long enough for her to get an expert on the phone?” 

“Buck--” 

“Punk. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t do something like that again. _Jesus_ , Steve. You don’t have the common sense God gave mud.” 

Steve shrugs apologetically. “Sorry.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes. 

Steve’s quiet for a long moment, staring out the window. “I didn’t know what to do without you, either,” he admits finally. 

Bucky turns and regards him for a second, and then shakes his head. “We’re going to need cupcakes for this.” 

***

Amelia comes home to an empty apartment. 

She toes off her shoes at the door, sets down her bags in the bedroom, and just sits down on the bed. She’s tired, but not tired enough to sleep, and the apartment is too quiet. She’s just about to get changed into her pajamas anyhow when Jarvis’s voice comes through the speakers. 

“Miss Cassidy, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes request that you join them in Captain Roger’s apartment.” 

“Thanks, J. Tell them I’ll be right there.” She heads out across the hall, walking in to find both men standing in Steve’s kitchen. The counters are covered in cookies and cupcakes. Bucky is busily frosting another batch of cupcakes, liberally adding sprinkles as he goes. Steve is sitting across from him, munching on one of the cookies. 

“Wow.” 

“We had a lot to talk about,” Steve responds cryptically. “Bucky thought baking might help. Things...might have gotten a bit out of control.” 

“No kidding.” 

Bucky grabs a cupcake from the counter, and handed it to her. “It’s black forest cake. There’s a cherry filling.” 

Her eyes light up, and she grabs a napkin before sitting down next to Steve. “So, good day, then?” 

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. “Let’s just say we cleared a lot of air. Things are better,” Bucky responds. “How was your day with Tony?” 

“Good. Very good. We didn’t do much, but it was a nice break from work. Mostly, we hung out in the penthouse and caught up. I feel horrible; We moved back in a month ago, and I really haven’t had much time for him.” 

“Too busy with me, you mean?” Bucky asks, stirring a bit harder at the frosting than he needs to. 

“No. Well, maybe, but not in a bad way. I wouldn’t change any of our time together, Bucky. But, with you and Steve doing more together, I want to try to find some more time for Tony, too.” 

“Sam wants to have a guy night this weekend. He’s coming up,” Bucky blurts out. 

“That sounds great, Buck,” Steve responds. “Do you want Jarvis to let everyone know?” 

“As soon as Sam and I work out the details. You don’t mind, do you?” he asks, eyes landing on Amelia’s face. 

“I think it’s a great idea. You deserve to get out and have fun with your friends. I might see what Natasha is doing. And Pepper should be back by then. Maybe I’ll round up Darcy and Jane, too, and we’ll do our own thing.” 

“Just be careful,” Steve warns. 

“Who, us? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with a smirk. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Keep your phone on you, just in case.” 

“I will.” She takes a bite of her cupcake, and moans. “Bucky.. Wow. You’ve been holding out on me. These are incredible.” 

He blushes. “Just had to follow the recipe,” he mumbles, but a hesitant bit of pride shines in his eyes. 

“You can’t do this with just a recipe. This takes talent. And to think, all I’ve been getting is pancakes,” she teases. 

The blush gets a little brighter. “Shut up and eat your cupcake.” 

Bucky finishes with the frosting, boxes up most of the goodies to deliver to some of the different labs the next day, says goodnight to Steve, leaving with a platter of his favorites. Amelia hangs back, helping Steve cover the rest for storage. 

“I’m not asking for details, but is he okay?” she asks, as soon as she hears the door to her apartment close. 

“Yeah. He’s alright.” Steve glances down at the cupcakes. “I didn’t realize how bad things were. Even after everything we learned, and everything he’s said, I didn’t know. I still don’t. He’s still not saying more than he is, and I don’t think he’ll ever share everything, but he was able to talk about some of it today. I guess he talked to Sam earlier, and Sam suggested that he talked to me.”

“This is a really big step for him.” 

Steve nods. “I know. He’s probably pretty worn down. Take care of him tonight, alright? Please.” 

She presses up onto her toes, her lips brushing along his cheek in a chaste kiss. “Always.” 

“Thanks, Amy. Really.” 

She shrugs, wishes him goodnight, and returns to her own apartment, where Bucky has already set the baked goods out on the island and is leaning against the back of the couch when she walks in. 

“Good chat?” he asks. 

She rolls her eyes. “He didn’t tell me anything, and I didn’t ask him to. But after the epic amount of baking going on, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Amelia moves in, wrapping her arms around him and feeling tension leave his body. “Are you?” 

“I’m....better, I think. I’ve been putting off that conversation for too long. Felt good to get it out.” 

“I’m proud of you.”

He presses his cheek against the top of her head. “Thanks, doll.” 

“Are you up for a movie, or did you want to head into bed?” 

“What’d you have in mind?” he asks, pulling back a bit. 

“Have you seen _Despicable Me_?” A grin pulls at the corners of her mouth. 

“Not yet. What’s it about?” 

“I don’t want to ruin it. Jarvis, queue the movie, please.” 

“Certainly, Miss Cassidy. Do you or Sergeant Barnes require anything else?” 

“Naw, J. I think we’re good. Thanks!” She leads Bucky over to the couch, settling his head on her lap and running her fingers through her hair as he relaxes into her. The lights dim as the movie starts, and Bucky reaches around with his metal hand, taking hers and holding it against his chest as the opening scene begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I've made those Black Forest cake cupcakes before. Dark chocolate cupcakes filled with canned cherries (because I am lazy), with cream cheese frosting on top. Yum. They're almost my favorite cupcake variety.


	29. Up and Down We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the 4th of July, Steve's birthday, so I finally finished writing this to get it up today. It's... long. I printed it so I could edit, and it was 23 pages long. And then I added more, so hopefully that makes up for the slow update. 
> 
> The past few weeks have been exciting. I have a Tumblr now (okay, I had one before, but it was never updated. I have a _new_ tumblr now. It's kind of a mix of Marvel and photography, and whatever else gets thrown into the mix. But I plan on using it to post bits of upcoming chapters, too. 
> 
> [AmethystFlame on Tumblr](http://amethystflame.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm traveling to Brooklyn for work later this summer, and I'm going to have a bit of time to myself, so I'm entertaining the idea of swinging out to ride the Cyclone. Just because. 
> 
> So, this is the chapter I've been warning you about. You're going to love me for a little bit, and then you're going to start grabbing for pitchforks. Sorry. This was a really hard chapter to write, if that makes it any better.
> 
> Thanks for all of the fantastic comments, the kudos, the bookmarks and subscriptions... They make my day, and I appreciate all of them. I'm a bit behind on replying, but I'll try to get caught up again tonight. And for those of you following 'If Once I Fell For You', I'm starting work/editing on the next chapter tomorrow. I messed up my ankle in my first boxing class (yeah, that happened, too. Funny story.), so I have extra time to write for the next week or so. The next update for this will be up in a couple weeks.
> 
> As always, I own Amelia and all of my mistakes. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

Bucky’s first appointment with his new therapist takes place a week later. Amelia makes him his favorite breakfast, and then wishes him luck as he and Steve leave the apartment to head for the downtown office. It’s a tense ride. Steve seems nearly as nervous as he is, and Bucky can’t bring himself to do more than stare out the window and try not to panic. 

When they pull into the parking garage near the office, Steve finally speaks. “Bucky, you’re going to do fine. This woman is great; Sam and I both talked to her over the phone. Just give this a chance, okay? And I’ll be right outside the door the whole time.” 

Bucky nods, throat tight. 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” Steve gets out of the car first, faking a nonchalance that Bucky can tell he doesn’t feel. Bucky follows on leaden legs. 

He knows that this has to happen. But the thought of telling a stranger about his time as the Soldier, about HYDRA, makes him ill. He’s fighting to not turn and run. He’s fighting even harder to not shut down entirely, go numb and silent. 

The waiting area is decorated in soft blues with green accents. The seating area holds a few chairs and couches, and he sits down after checking in with the receptionist. Steve tries to keep up a steady stream of conversation, but Bucky can’t quite follow him. 

Finally, the door opens, and a middle-aged woman with graying red hair walks out. “James Barnes?” 

Bucky swallows hard and nods. “Bucky. My name’s Bucky,” he croaks. 

“Bucky,” the woman smiles. “I’m Doctor Jean Gallager. Are you ready to get started?” 

He nods again. Steve sets a steady hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’ll be right here when you get out, pal.” Bucky meets his eyes, takes a deep breath, and walks towards the waiting door. 

***

Amelia is just finishing her paperwork for the morning when her office door opens and Bucky slips in. He looks pale and tired. She comes around the desk, and he places his arms around her waist, setting his head on her shoulder. 

“How’d it go?” she asks after a long moment. 

“Not as bad as I thought. We didn’t talk much today, just went over a few ways to deal with flashbacks, and she asked about my friends. New friends. Not, you know, from before. She encouraged me to start journaling, and was really impressed when I told her I have been since the start.” 

“She’s nice?” 

“Dr. Gallager?” Amelia nods. “Yeah.” 

He pulls back a bit. “Are you hungry? Steve and I were going out for burgers.” 

“Give me fifteen minutes?” 

“Take your time. He’s finishing up drills for this afternoon. I’ll just get comfortable.” 

Bucky walks past her, stretching out on the couch and taking out his phone to keep himself occupied. Amelia finishes her work, and turns back to him not quite ten minutes later. 

Only to find him sound asleep. 

She grabs her phone and heads out into the office, pressing in Steve’s number as she goes. 

“Amy? I’m nearly done here if--” 

“He’s sleeping, on my office couch.” 

Steve chuckles. “I’m not surprised. I’ll get the food to-go, then. You want your regular order?” 

“You’re my hero.” 

“Always glad to be of service, ma’am.” 

“Dork.” 

Steve laughs. “I’ll be up in about an hour. Anything else you need?” 

“I think we’re good. I have a blanket in the closet for him.” 

“Alright. I’ll see you in a bit. I have to finish this up real quick.” 

Amelia hangs up, and then pulls the out the blanket that she keeps on the top shelf of her closet, spreading it over the sleeping soldier. He doesn’t even stir. 

It’s Kate’s second day of maternity leave, so Amelia takes over the outer office, clearing off the desk and pulling over a second chair for Steve. Once that is set up, she goes back to work while waiting for Steve to show up. 

***

Bucky doesn’t wake up until nearly 3:30, slowly pushing himself up to a seated position, and looking around. 

“I’m guessing I missed lunch,” he mumbles. 

“It’s in the fridge,” Amelia says, pointing to the mini fridge. “Steve said to come down for training once you’re ready. They started without you.” 

“You should have woken me.” 

She looks over. His hair is sticking every which way, and there are creases on his face from the couch cushions. “I think you needed sleep more than you need training. Steve agreed. Eat first.”

He pushes the hair from his face, and stalks over to grab his food, pulling a chair over to her desk to join her. “If you’re nearly done, you should come down and watch. You need to know our maneuvers if you’re going to keep working comms.” 

“You realize that I’m support for you, right? I don’t actually have anything to do with the mission itself.” 

“Yeah. You’re there in case I trigger. But, it still might be good to know. Finish up whatever you’re working on. You’re coming with me.” 

She casts him a glance, and he meets her gaze with a stubborn stare. With a sigh, she relents. 

“You’re lucky it’s not a busy work day,” she grumbles. 

He rolls his eyes. “You need to know this. Stop complaining.” 

“Uh-huh.” She pauses. “Therapy is draining as hell. I’ve been there. Give yourself time to rest and recover a bit after your sessions.” 

“You went to therapy?” She nods. “Because of the plane crash?” 

“Yeah. It took a long time to get to through that, and it might not feel like it right now, but it takes a lot of strength to reach out for help. You should be proud of yourself.” 

Bucky stares down at his half-eaten burger. “It helped?” 

“Took a little while, but yes, it did.” 

He nods sharply. “I’m glad.” 

She gives him a little smile. “Finish your lunch. We’re missing training.” 

He cuts a scowl in her direction, but the effect is lost when combined with the humor in his eyes. She sticks her tongue out and turns her attention back to finishing up the last bit of her work. 

 

*****

Baby Briony is born on a Wednesday, nearly a week before her due date. The Avengers send flowers, and Amelia even stops in once to greet the new member of Kate’s family while they are still in the hospital. 

The next morning, Bucky walks into Amelia’s office, tablet in hand. “We have a mission.” 

Amelia looks up from her work. “The file just came in?” 

“Steve sent it out. He told me about an hour ago. There’s a HYDRA base near the alps. He thinks they’re hiding something.” 

“Alright. I’ll follow you down. Let me just grab my bag.” 

He waits as she throws her phone and tablet in, and then they head to where the others are already starting to gather. Steve has plans already pulled up on the holoscreen, and is tracking through the area, putting together his strategy. Bucky takes up his place at his side, discussing tactics and mapping routes. Amelia sits down, Barton dropping into the seat beside her. 

“Haven’t seen you around,” he comments, spinning his chair back and forth with a fake innocent expression on his face. 

“Busy. Not all of us get the spy-sassin work schedule. Some of us have to put in the whole forty hours.” She reaches out with one foot and nudges her chair. “Besides, weren’t you just out of town?” 

“Boston. Needed a bit of quiet time.” 

“See any whales?” 

“Nope. Four blissful days of beaches and checking out the local music scene. Good to be back to work, though. I’d hate to get bored.” 

“No worries there, I’m sure.”

“You running comms again?” 

“She is,” Natasha confirms, sitting down at Clint’s side. “This is going to be a long one. Travel, getting into position… It’s in the middle of nowhere, and we’re going to have to trek in and out.” 

“Bring the bug spray, kids,” Barton mumbles under his breath. 

“It’s already packed,” Steve says, joining into the conversation. He takes his seat at the head of the table, Bucky sitting to his side, now between him and Amelia. 

“I don’t see why we can’t just fly out, drop in, and be home in a day,” Tony grumbles. “I don’t go camping, Rogers.” 

“Worried about bears?” Natasha asks. 

“Worried about getting mud in places mud was never meant to go.” 

“There aren’t any bears in the Alps,” Bucky supplies. “Mostly deer. Sometimes a fox or two.” 

Steve gives them all a barely-concealed look of annoyance. “Moving back to the real reason we’re here... The facility is tucked along this dense forest. Supplies are delivered once a week by helicopter. Whatever they’re doing here, they don’t want anyone to find them.” 

“Do we know what they’re doing?” 

“I was stored there for a while. They do a lot of experiments there. Or they used to, in the seventies. Not sure what we’re going to find now,” Bucky responds shortly. “Steve did some more research into the place. We need to check it out.” 

Everyone exchanges a mildly uncomfortable look. Amelia rests her knee against his in support, and he drops his hand to rest on it, under the table and away from any curious gazes. 

Departure is set for first thing the next morning. As soon as the briefing is done, Steve leads Amelia back to the control room for a slightly longer lesson in running the comms. Bucky follows along, listening in as Steve goes over some of the things she should watch for and slowly introduces her to mission strategy. 

“You’re going to see things that the rest of us can’t, standing in the middle of everything. Jarvis is programmed to add his input, but he doesn’t have the same intuition you do. I want you to know what to look for, but Bucky is still your number one priority.”

Her gaze swings over to Bucky, who leans forward with a scowl on his face. “I’ll let you know if I need you. Keep an eye on the rest of the idiots, too. Your warning last time probably saved us from any more damage.”

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with taking on more. I mean, it was just a lucky catch last time.” 

“That’s why we’re doing this. I’m running the mission. You’re just a second set of eyes. Anything goes wrong, it’s still 100% on me, got it? You aren’t responsible for us.” 

***Steve’s POV***

Steve watches her jaw tighten. Maybe it was a bit underhanded, but after her save during the last mission, Natasha approached him about giving her more training, and he agreed. All he had to do was talk her into it. 

Or set her in place, and let it drop that she’d be helping to keep the team safe. Amy wasn’t the type to turn away from the opportunity to help the people she cared about. 

As he works with her, Bucky jumping in from time to time, he knows that they’ve made the right choice. She doesn’t catch everything, but as he’s showing her different scenarios, most based on his time as a soldier and some of his past missions, she’s usually quick to see a pattern. She’s a little slower to decide on a course of action, but her reasoning is sound. 

By the time they break for dinner, Steve’s feeling more confident about her position on the coms. She has potential to be really good at it someday, if they decide to continue her training. The thought both energizes him and leaves him feeling distraught. He doesn’t want her to be a part of this side of their lives. She lives in the space outside of everything it means to be an Avenger. She’s untouched, mostly, by the violence and horrors that the team has faced. 

But, the situation is what it is, and the team would benefit from a second set of hands on the wheel. 

Tony orders pizzas and calls them all up for an impromptu movie night. Amy sits beside Steve, Bucky shoving them both over so all three can fit on the couch. Within an hour, she is stretched across them, her head against Steve, and her legs curled up on Bucky’s lap. He’s distractedly massaging her feet as the movie plays, occasionally glancing up, observing her quietly for a moment before returning his attention to the movie. 

And he’d think it was just Bucky checking up on a friend if it weren’t for the fact that he’s watched Amelia do the same exact thing--look down at Bucky with a soft smile on her face--just as often as he’s looked up at her. 

Steve falls easily. Always has. Bucky was always a little slower to give his heart, but when he did, it always started like this. And Steve, for one, is glad to see it. Really, it’s about time; they’ve been playing this game of wait-and-see ever since the first kiss at the baseball game. Before then, too, if Steve really thinks about it. It just... It took him a while to understand what he was seeing. Bucky had lost so much of himself, and he was always tactile. The first to reach for a gal’s hand, or to drape an arm over Steve’s bony shoulders. It made sense that being able to reach out and touch someone he saw as safe would be a huge part of his recovery. 

But things seem to be moving closer to being something more. And the little touches now seemed to say more than ‘I’m safe with you’. 

And despite his initial jealousy, he’s glad to see it. Neither of them demanding anything from the other, taking it slow, testing the waters. It’s exactly what it needs to be right now. 

*** (Bucky’s POV)***

The alarm is set to go off at 5:00 in the morning. He’s awake by 4:00, and spends the last bit of time in bed, rehearsing the mission details with Amelia beside him, her arm draped over him and her face squashed into his side. He trails his fingers over her arm as she sleeps. 

In less than two hours, he’ll be grabbing his bags and boarding the quinjet. One week, at least, of hiking, camping, taking out another HYDRA base, and then making their way back home. It feels good, knowing that, with every base they take out, there’s one less to hurt anyone else. And revenge is sweet. But he hasn’t left Amelia’s side for more than a night or two since they met, and even then, he was just across the road and could text her. Radio silence, unless necessary, right up until the mission. He’d have his phone on him, signal scrambled to about thirty different locations, but only if he needed it. 

He’s ready for the mission itself. He’s pretty sure he can handle the week away. He’s had to survive worse. But he’s going to miss this. 

Amelia wakes at 4:30, and they prepare a light breakfast in silence. She has a selection of muffins and scones, along with a few carafes of hot coffee, ready to go, carrying them up to the jet at Bucky’s side. Steve is already in there, double checking supplies. 

“All set?” Amelia asks, setting the refreshments down in an empty chair.

“We are now,” he responds, with an appreciative look towards the coffee. 

Clint and Natasha come in next. Like the others, they are wearing comfortable clothing for the flight; it’ll be several hours before they need to worry about suiting up. Clint drops his bags next to his seat, kicking them out of the way, and then goes to grab a muffin. Before long, Tony has joined the group, too. Bruce would be staying behind, to prevent any unwarranted code greens, and Sam was back in DC for the week. 

Amelia exchanges a quick ’good luck’ with Nat and Barton. Tony gets a tight hug, as does Steve, with a mumbled demand that they take care. 

Bucky steps up last, hesitant at first, but she closes the distance between them, flinging her arms around him and holding tight. 

“Stay safe,” she demands. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, alright?” 

He nods, pressing his face to her hair and inhaling deeply. “I’ll touch base whenever I can.”

Far too soon, they’re off, Amelia standing on the landing pad as the quinjet takes off. Bucky waves one last time as she disappears from view. 

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Steve says, setting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“She’s protected?” 

“The Tower is the most secure building in Manhattan, probably the most secure along the entire eastern seaboard. The security is first class, all personally vetted by myself and Steve, and Bruce is nearby for any significant threats. She couldn’t be safer,” Tony assures him from his seat at the cockpit. 

Bucky nods, and takes his seat, settling in for the long flight. 

***Three Days Later, Somewhere in the Alps***

It’s raining. Except it’s cold as hell up on this mountain, so it’s more accurate to say that it’s damn near snowing. Rogers was nice enough to find them a cave, but this close to the compound, they couldn’t risk a fire. 

Thankfully, Stark slipped some heater contraption along with his supplies. Thank fuck, because Bucky started to lose feeling in his toes a good four hours ago, trudging through the icy muck along the trails. 

He shifted beneath his blanket, rubbing his feet together to try to keep them warm. Half the team was already asleep, with the exception of Natasha, who was cleaning her weapons, and Steve, who was taking first watch. 

As if just thinking about him caught his attention, Steve turns and meets Bucky’s gaze. 

“Buck?” 

“I’m good, Steve. Just thinking about how much I haven’t missed this.” He’d been trained to not react to the cold. One more thing to ignore, when it wasn’t crucial to the mission. Now? He was cold and wet and miserable. 

At least it won’t kill him.

He misses his own bed, though. He misses heat and showers and real food. 

He misses Amelia. 

A quick peek at his watch reads 10:42 PM. Back home, it’s going on 4:00 AM. Amelia is probably tucked into bed, sound asleep in her quiet room. 

Was she missing him, too? 

They’ve been out here for three days. Tomorrow night, they’d be storming the base. 

For the length of the mission, he’ll have contact with Amelia. And, if things go to plan, they’d be on their way home again by morning. As much as he appreciates the opportunity to take another swing at HYDRA’s crumbling empire, and as glad as he is to be out here to keep Steve safe from his own stupidity, his heart just isn’t in it. He just wants to go home.

***

Dawn comes early, with him on the last watch for the night, and he sits just inside the cave, watching the sun rise over the mountains. It’s peaceful, and he clears his mind, trying to concentrate on the coming day. 

They reach their temporary base by 4:30 that afternoon. Steve slips his earpiece in to talk with Amelia and JARVIS, checking for any changes in the hidden compound since they left the tower. After a few minutes, Bucky hears Steve say goodbye. Moments later, the earpiece lands on his lap. 

“Make it quick,” Steve says, turning away to grant Bucky a bit of privacy. Bucky puts the piece in, and adjusts it. 

“Amelia?” 

“Hey. How’s the camping trip?” 

“Cold. I forgot how much I hated the Alps. No joke intended. How are things at home?” 

“Quiet. Boring. I’m nearly caught up on paperwork, which never happens.” She takes a breath. “I miss you. Are you holding up alright?” 

“I’m fine. Anxious to get home. Hate for you to get too bored without us there.” 

She laughs, and he catches his breath. “Be careful, alright? And keep an eye out for Steve for me. Get this done, and then come home.” 

There’s a hint of pleading in her voice. She’s worried about him. He has to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I’ll be okay, doll. And I’ll come home as soon as I can. Get a bit of rest, alright? We’re gonna need you tonight.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

Bucky disconnects and hands the earpiece back to Steve with a grateful look. Steve just claps his hand on his shoulder as he moves past to update the others.

An hour after sunset, they begin their descent towards the base. Amelia is hooked up to the comm units, and Jarvis cuts in every now and then with essential information. There has been no movement from the base in the last 12 hours, and the last supply drop was three days ago. 

“I’ve been watching them every night since you left, and everything looks normal so far,” Amelia supplies. “Security goes past your entrance every half hour. Whatever they’re doing, there’s not much in the way of security.” 

“Makes me wonder about what they have going on in the lower levels, then, if they don’t feel the need to post guards,” Clint says.

“Nothing good,” Bucky adds in. 

“Quiet down, guys. Amy, let us know if anything changes, alright?” 

“Got it. Good luck, and be careful.” 

Bucky hangs back while the others move into position, sniper rifle at the ready to clear anyone who might get too close. It takes five minutes for the rest of the team to slip inside. Jarvis gives him an all clear, and he starts in after them. 

His task is to rendezvous with the others as they clear the top levels, and go with them as they head into the lower levels. The halls are empty as he moves through them, but he can hear the others engaged over the comms.

“Bucky, you have one coming down the right turn behind you,” Amelia provides. 

“Got it,” he mumbles, slipping into the next corridor and waiting for the man to get where he can see him. The guy’s big, and well armed. He’s also quiet as hell. 

One shot takes him down. 

Bucky mumbles a quick thanks to Amelia and continues on his way. 

Within a few minutes, the team meets up to start their way towards the lower levels. Bucky and Steve take point, the others following close behind. The first two floors are empty. The third provides a little resistance. 

And then they come to a dead end. 

“Jarvis, what have we got?” 

“No, I remember this.” Bucky led them down the hall and into a small conference room. The far wall is covered in bookshelves. “Something here. Towards the left. No sense in stealth; they already know we’re coming.”

“Jarvis?”

“I detect signs of life behind the panel. Be careful, sir.” 

“Right. Company on the other side.” 

“Got it. Don’t suppose you remember this part?” Steve asks, turning towards Bucky. 

Bucky gives him a bored look, and punches his metal fist through the shelf, going through the enforced steel on the other side, and then he tugs the door off of the runner. 

On the other side are a half dozen soldiers, all huge but sparsely armed. Steve moves first, running into the corridor and letting the shield fly. 

The soldier in front grabs the shield out of the air, glances at it, and then throws it behind him. Steve hears it go clattering through the halls. 

“Fuck,” Bucky states. “They’re enhanced.” 

“Language!” 

Bucky shoots his best friend an incredulous look. “Are you kiddin’ me, pal? I’ve heard worse stuff coming out of your mouth than--”

“--Alright, alright. It just slipped out.” The team chuckles, and Bucky can practically hear Amelia rolling her eyes on the other side of the comm link. “Can we concentrate here?” 

Steve strikes first, Bucky close at his side. While these men aren’t super soldiers, not exactly, they are playing with more than the average man. 

It takes nearly five minutes to clear them, and they’re all panting a bit when they’re done. Steve moves ahead to retrieve his shield, waiting just ahead for the rest of them. Clint is limping a bit, but still okay to move forward. They only go another few hallways when there is a loud cracking sound and then a roar, as the space ahead of them explodes in flames. 

“Get back!” Steve shouts, holding the shield to deflect the closest spray of flame. Everyone jumps back several feet, just as the ground beneath them starts to shake. 

“They’re bringing the place down. Get out of there!” Amelia shouts. 

“On it!” Steve responds. They pull back, quickly making their way back towards the entry point. 

Bucky shares a glance with Steve, and knows the other man is remembering the last time HYDRA tried to detonate a building around them. 

“The entry point is gone,” Amelia provides. “Jarvis, can you get them out?” 

“Of course, Miss Cassidy. Captain, take a left at the next corridor.” 

Jarvis continued to get the Avengers out of the building while Amelia watched the building blow up around them. 

“There is an exit point three doors to your right. I am overriding the security codes now. On the other side of the door is a set of stairs. If you follow it down, you’ll come to an underground passageway.” Jarvis pauses, so Amelia jumps in. 

“It’s the only way out, but any agents in the lower levels are using the same route. You’re going to have to fight your way out, and quickly, if you don’t want the whole compound to land on your heads.” 

“Cheerful thought. Thanks for that,” Clint snarks. 

“Stop talking and move!” 

Jarvis has the door open by the time they get there. Steve leads the way, Tony coming in beside him. Bucky has dropped back, keeping a clear shot towards the space right before them. Everyone else knows to stay out of the way. They’re moving quickly, dust falling from the ceiling and the stairs trembling beneath their feet. 

“Faster,” Steve commands quietly. 

“You’re almost to the end. Gets a bit busy on the other side. Be careful.” 

“Got it,” Steve responds. They hurry down the rest of the stairs. 

He hears a faint beep, telling him that Amelia has switched to their private frequency. “Be careful,” she says softly. He can hear the worry in her voice. 

“Always, doll,” he promises. Another beep, and they’re both back to the group comm line. 

They can hear the remaining agents moving along the corridor at the bottom of the stairs. Steve looks back just before they reach the bottom, meeting everyone’s eyes, and then gives a nod. 

They rush into the hallway in a practiced move, everyone taking their positions, and fighting as they keep pushing towards the exit. Larger chunks are starting to fall around them, and the agents seem less interested in fighting than they are in getting out. 

That’s fine. They can just round them all up once they make it clear of this deathtrap. 

They come bursting from the tunnel a couple of minutes later, quickly taking on anyone who has already made it out, and anyone else who escaped behind them. 

Within minutes, the tunnel collapses, the rest of the compound going down with it. Anyone, or anything, left inside was no longer a threat. 

There are only four or five HYDRA agents standing at that point, all quickly brought down.

Bucky watches as the last falls. “We’re clear?” he asks, tapping the communicator. 

“All good from my end,” Amelia replies. “Good job, guys. Now, get back to the quinjet and hurry home.” 

He smirks. “Yes, Ma’am. Shutting down for now. Get some sleep, doll. You’ve earned it. We’ll be home soon.” 

***

The quinjet returns three days later, landing well past midnight with the team disembarking in exhausted silence. Bucky grabs his bag and follows Steve down the ramp. He’s sore and dead on his feet from the longer miss, but he’s so glad to be home. 

The lights in the community room are dim, but it’s still light enough to see Tony standing in front of one of the couches. 

“Barnes,” he calls quietly. Bucky comes over, and looks down at the couch, where Amelia lays curled up, book in hand, her head cradled on the arm rest. She’d fallen asleep, trying to wait up for them. 

“I’ll carry her down,” he offers, shifting his bag onto his back, and easily lifting the sleeping woman into his arms. She mumbles in her sleep, her hand coming to rest on his chest--over his heart--before she settles. Tony clasps his shoulder on his way past towards his penthouse, and Bucky starts towards the elevators, Steve falling into step beside him. 

“Good to be home, huh?,” Steve says quietly, not wanting to wake her up. 

Bucky nods. It was the longest they’d gone apart since the night they met. A whole week. And all he wants to do now is hold her in his arms and get some rest. 

“I’ll debrief with her tomorrow afternoon. You should both sleep in.” 

“Thanks. And yeah,” he says, glancing down at the woman asleep in his arms, “it’s good to be back.”

He leaves Steve outside the apartment door, and heads for the bedroom. The bed is made up, so he grips Amelia a little tighter, and then uses his foot to push down the sheet and blanket, settling her into place before slipping in beside her and pulling the covers back up. Still asleep, she turns towards him, one arm coming around his chest as she moves closer. He pulls her into his arms, tension releasing in his shoulders as her head comes to rest on his arm. 

“Rest easy, Amelia. I’ve got you,” he whispers against her forehead, lips brushing against soft skin. 

She stirs, eyes blinking up at him. “Bucky?” 

She’s half asleep, voice slurring.

“I’m home. We’re all safe. Go back to sleep, doll.” 

“Missed you,” she mumbles, as her eyes drift closed again. 

“Missed you, too,” he whispers, even knowing she’s already asleep and won’t hear him. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and closes his eyes.

***

The sun isn’t yet shining when he awakes, Amelia still at his side, with one arm over his waist and a long, lean, pajama-covered leg resting atop his. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to wake her and lose the contact. A week away. Radio silence most of that time. Waking up once or twice scared and shaking, caught in halfway in a memory. And more than that, he’d missed her. Badly. 

She stirs, curling tighter into him, face coming to rest against his shoulder, mumbling sleepily before tensing. A second later, she lifts her head and pushes her hair away from her face. “Bucky?” 

“Mornin’, doll.” 

She smiles down at him. “You’re home! When did you get back?” 

“Sometime after two. I didn’t want to leave you in the community room, so I carried you down. Didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Wish you had. You must’ve been tired, too.” 

He chuckles. “I can handle it.” 

Amelia sets her head back on his shoulder. “I’m glad you're home,” she says softly. “I missed you.” 

Her hand comes to rest on his chest, right over his heart, and he sets his own hand over it. The heat of her palm radiates through his thin nightshirt. 

Still, he shivers at her touch.

***

Amelia feels Bucky tremble beneath her hand, and starts to draw back, but he tightens his arm, holding her against him. 

“Bucky?” 

“Can you stay? Just for another few minutes. I-- I missed you, too.” 

She sinks back against him, face turned slightly up to see his face. He hasn’t shaved in a week, but the stubble looks good on him. His hair is starting to get long again, too. It’s a good look, though, and it looks healthier on him now than it did back when he first arrived at her home in Eddisburg. 

A week away from him has brought some things into focus. It let her catch her breath, from all of the chaos he brought into her life, and look at things objectively. 

She was falling for him. Had fallen. There was no more doubt in her mind. The man lying beside her, for all of his faults and his struggles, had stolen her heart before she even knew it was still possible. And, suddenly, she just couldn’t imagine a life without him in it anymore. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she responds, and she’s doing more than just agreeing to stay for a few minutes. Her heart is pounding. Can he feel it? She’s terrified. There’s so much he doesn’t know, and after three and a half months, she doesn’t know how to tell him, but maybe it was worth it to try. To hope she could explain. 

But not right now. 

He turns until he is facing her, her leg moving from on top of his to between his as he rolls towards her. Heat blooms across her cheeks (and other places). She tries to casually slip her leg free, but her knee catches between his thighs, and there’s suddenly nothing casual about this at all. She glances up, but his face is all innocence, so she decides to play dumb. 

“Do you have work today?” he asks. 

“Took it off.” 

“Good. I forgot how horrible it was, spending that much time around other people. Clint snores. Loudly. And Steve still doesn’t sleep well on missions, never did, so he was tossing and turning each night. I’m not ready to move yet.” 

“Do you want me to go so you can get some more sleep?” 

He shakes his head, arm tightening again around her waist. “Don’t move.” 

She tucks her face against his chest, trying to hide her smile. He drops a kiss onto her temple when she does, lingering just a second longer than usual. And it could mean nothing, or it could mean everything, but she keeps her face averted. 

By the time they roll out of bed, it’s past ten and their stomachs are starting to growl. They work together in a practiced dance, putting together a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit and yogurt. It’s a good morning; Bucky has Jarvis play his current playlist of favorites, and moves his body in time to the music. Amelia stands beside him, slicing peaches for their parfaits. 

He steps back into her space, bumping his shoulder gently, and then taking the knife from her hand before spinning her around. A gleeful laugh bubbles from her throat, and he grins down at her, holding her hand until she catches her balance again.

And then he releases her and goes back to the eggs. 

It takes Amelia a moment to get back to the parfaits, heart pounding and a silly smile on her face. She’d feel a bit more embarrassed if it weren’t for the barely-there smirk tracing along Bucky’s lips, and the way his eyes are lit up this morning. 

She finishes the parfaits and sets them on the kitchen island as he dishes up the rest of their breakfast. 

“So, how’d camping go?” She asks, after taking a sip of her water. He’s still sporting a week’s worth of stubble, and she’s fighting the urge to rub her hands over his jawline. 

“I have bug bites in places I can’t itch in public, but I’ve survived worse.”

“Quality bonding time with the team?” 

“Well, I got to watch Clint knock Steve into a river, so I guess you could say that.” 

“What happened?” 

“Steve wanted to show off his camp survival skills, and asked Barton if he’d be able to shoot some fish with his bow. Barton shoved him in, told him to catch his own damn fish. Stalked off, and came back with a half dozen rabbits and a couple of quail. I thought Tony was going to puke when we started cleaning them.” 

Amelia chuckles. “He’s not really the outdoors type.” 

“No, he really isn’t,” Bucky replies, with a laugh. “Steve finally promised to never ask him to go on that type of mission again.” 

“Kinda sorry I missed it.” 

Bucky looks up, bright eyes intense. “I don’t want you anywhere near a mission, not against HYDRA. They’ve taken everything else from me; I don’t want them to get the chance to lay their hands on you.” 

She reaches out, setting her fingers over his wrist. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I know. I know. But even having you on comms is risky. If they track the signal back to you, or if they--” 

“Bucky, I’m here. I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.” She backpedals, trying to bring the light back into his gaze. “Are you going to show me some more dance moves after we eat?” 

His eyes widen a bit. “Do you want me to?” 

She shrugs. “If you don’t mind.” 

He shifts his hand, until her fingers have slid from his wrist and he can hold them. “Nothing I’d like more, doll.” 

They finish eating and Bucky, deciding they need more space, pushes all of her living room furniture against the walls. Jarvis plays songs at Bucky’s request, and he walks her through each step before positioning her in his arms. He starts slow, leading her through some of the more complicated footwork before picking up speed. When they crash together at the end of the song, him holding her up after she tripped over her own feet, they’re both short of breath and he’s smiling down at her. 

“Not bad, doll. We’ll make a dancer out of you yet.” 

She grins. “Show me another one.” 

***Steve’s POV***

Steve hears laughter on the other side of Amelia’s apartment door and pauses, changing course. He was going to head down to the gym, but… 

He knocks, and then tries the handle, unsurprised when the door opens right up. He steps inside and pauses. 

Bucky already knows he’s there, of course, but is ignoring him in favor of Amelia, who is almost keeping up with a dance Steve hasn’t seen anyone do in seventy years. They’re both laughing. And then Amelia loses her footing, and Bucky grabs her a little tighter, pulling her up close to his chest and gazing down at her with a heated look in his eyes. 

He hears Amelia’s breath hitch, and he’s pretty sure he’s been forgotten.

Bucky’s lip darts out, wetting his bottom lip, and Steve quickly leaves the apartment. There are some things that, as happy as he is for his friend, he just doesn’t need to see right now. 

***Bucky’s POV***

Bucky hears Steve leave his own apartment, hears his soft footsteps pause, and then watches the door swing open, but his attention is on the woman in his arms. The relief of a mission completed, and of coming home safe, lets him breathe easier than his has in a couple weeks. All he wants is to do is forget everything and be just a normal guy for another hour or two. 

A week away, and everything is clearer. He knows what he wants. And he thinks maybe she wants it to. So when she trips again, falling into his arms, his body responds before he can think, pulling her in, feeling the way her chest rises and falls against his as she tries to catch her breath. She looks up at him, and he’s lost.

Bucky waits until Steve leaves, and then bends down, pressing his lips to hers. He almost expects her to pull away, but instead she leans in, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders at first, and then working their way towards the back of his neck. 

He doesn’t press to open her lips. Not yet. This is just a taste. A stolen moment. But one he’s dreamed about for what feels like forever. And he’s scared and uncertain, but at the same time, he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. It’s confusing and beautiful, and it makes him feel so, so alive. 

But it’s more than that. Look, he knows he’s in no place to fall in love. He has nothing to offer. No plans for the future that don’t involve more bloodshed. His past is still a huge question mark. But this? Being with her, like this, feels right in a way that things haven’t felt right in a very long time. 

***Amelia’s POV***

Amelia runs one hand through his hair, while the other grips tightly to his shoulder, trying to keep herself up. She’s spent her whole life hearing about kisses that leave you weak in the knees, but this is the first time she’s ever experienced it. If Bucky pulled back right now, she’d be flat on the floor. 

His lips are soft and warm and just a little moist. His stubble, leftover from his week away, tickles her skin. And too soon, he’s pulling back, looking down into her eyes. She sees desire there. Wonder. Uncertainty. 

She wants to kiss him again and again until that uncertainty disappears. 

“You feel it, too,” he whispers, inquisitive gaze raking over her face. It feels like he’s seeing straight to the heart of her.

She gives a single hesitant nod. 

“Amelia. God, I--” His voice cracks, and he looks down, averting his gaze. She runs her fingers along his cheek, sliding them beneath his chin and coaxing him to look back at her. 

She takes in the broken look on his face, and closes the gap between them, trying to tell him with her lips all the things she needed to say. He tenses for a split second, and then releases the tension, eagerly deepening the kiss.

She nips lightly at his lower lip, teasingly tugging it back before releasing it. He groans, pulling her closer still. “Beautiful girl,” he mumbles against her lips, before he gently pressed them open with his, seeking entrance with tongue. 

She gives in, and he is suddenly inside her, filling her senses with his scent and taste. Her heart pounds in her chest. It’s too much, and not enough, and god, she wants more. Wants all of it. Everything he has to offer. 

He takes charge of the kiss, one hand leaving her hips to wrap possessively into her hair. It’s tender and demanding. Desperate and so, so sweet. A confusing mess, but that’s been what this--whatever this thing between them is--has been from the very start. Layers upon layers, overlapping and contradicting. Perfect for all of the ways that it didn’t make sense.

And she’s scared. It’s just a kiss, but it feels like a promise of something more. It feels like hope. Like the future, if they’re brave enough to grab it. 

He pulls back, setting his forehead against hers as he whispers her name like it’s a prayer and he’s a dying man. 

Her heart is pounding, and her knees feel weak. And it’s so cliche that she laughs. 

Bucky grimaces. “That bad, huh?” 

“My knees are shaking. I feel like I’m a character in some cheesy romance novel.” 

The grimace turns into a wicked smirk. “Good to know I’ve still got it.” 

She laughs again, and shoves at his shoulders. “Could you be any prouder of yourself?” Amelia teases. 

“Give me a day or two to get my bearings about me. Your knees’ll never know what hit them.” 

Amelia rolls her eyes. “Way to ruin the moment, Barnes.” She presses one last chaste kiss to his lips and then steps away. “Keep dancing? I think we have another hour before Steve wants to meet, and I’m not tired yet if you’re not.”

Bucky moves her into position, and when the next song starts, begins to lead her around the room again. 

***Bucky’s POV***

After lunch, the meeting with Steve that mostly included him and Steve speculating about what else might have been in the compound basement, and a team dinner, it’s going on 8:00 before Bucky and Amelia are finally alone again. All day long, he’s been stealing glances and brushing his hand against her any time no one is looking. Partially because he can, and partially because he still doesn’t believe it’s real.

Steve keeps giving him knowing looks, and Bucky thinks it’s about time to update the privacy settings on Amelia’s apartment. He loves Steve, but the guy’s timing is horrible.

Still, when evening comes and they finally escape back to the apartment, Bucky tells Jarvis not to let anyone in unless it’s an emergency, and leads Amelia over to the couch, tucking her in beside him. She wraps her arms around his waist and sets her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you,” he states, brushing his lips across the top of her head. 

“Hmm?” 

“The mission. You kept your cool, and helped us out. Not everyone does as well, especially not their first few times.” 

She shrugs. “I really didn’t do much.” 

“Nonsense. Hey, look at me.” He catches her chin as she starts to squirm away from his gaze and nudges her face up. “You did great, doll. Really. I don’t know if I woulda seen that shooter in time. And you were on top of things the whole time. Give yourself the credit you deserve. I mean it; I’m real proud of you.” 

She blushes, and he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, lingering a moment before pulling away. His hand comes up, tracing along her cheekbone with cool metal before he can think about it. He freezes, fingers stilling against her face, and then he tries to pull them away. Before he can, Amelia wraps her own hand around his, holding it in place. 

“Don’t,” she says softly. 

“Amelia--” 

She slips her other hand around to the back of his head, pulling him back down to her, and his hand is quickly forgotten. 

***One Week Later***

Kate walks into the community room, Briony in her arms. Her husband follows just behind her, hands full with a carseat and diaper bag. Clint is quick to jump up and take the supplies, setting them just out of the way but still in easy reach, and then getting the frazzled man a beer. Kate, on the other hand, is led to the couch. Pepper hands her a fruit smoothie and a few gift bags, filled with both baby clothes and pampering supplies. 

Steve is the first to hold her, dwarfing the infant in his two hands. He looks down at Briony, eyes softer than Amelia’s seen them in a long time. After several minutes, he tears his eyes off of the infant and looks up to Bucky. “Do you want a turn?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “No. No, I’m good,” he responds in a choked voice.

Kate gives him a considering look as Steve reluctantly hands Briony on to Clint, who spends the next five minutes making faces and funny noises for Briony. Over the next half hour, the baby girl is passed around the team until finally making it back to Kate. She snuggles her daughter for a moment before crossing the room with a determined look in her eyes.

She stops in front of Bucky, and sets the baby down into his arms before he can protest. 

“You’re not going to hurt her, and she’s too young to bite. You’ll be fine,” she tells him. He stiffens, but then Briony blinks up at him, reaching up to capture one of his fingers in her tiny hand. Bucky’s eyes go wide. 

“She likes you,” Kate comments. Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off the infant in his arms. 

Briony gives a little squawk. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he responds, voice soft in wonder. 

Kate sets a hand on his shoulder, and then walks over, sitting beside Amelia with a knowing look. 

“He looks good with a baby in his arms.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he does,” Amelia responds, fighting the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

“Did I want kids?” Bucky asks, glancing up at Steve. 

“Four or five,” Steve replies. “Whole time I’ve known you, you wanted a big family.” 

“Huh.” Bucky looks back at the baby in his arms, a funny sort of smile twisting along his lips. “I’d show them everything, Steve. Give them everything we never had. Travel the world with them.”

Amelia watches Bucky cuddling Briony with a lump in her throat. He looks happy, a wondering look on his face as he considers this new vision of his future. And she can’t shake the feeling that she was wrong. So wrong. About everything. And now she has no idea how to undo it. 

The past week has been...incredible. Perfect, really. It felt like maybe this, with the two of them together, was exactly what she’d been waiting for. Nothing has gone past kissing, but just having that connection, just having a way to express their feelings, it felt right.

And, selfishly, she let herself forget. Let herself get caught up in it. Because laying in his arms, feeling his lips on hers, or tracing gently along the sensitive skin of her neck, it was so easy to pretend that maybe she had that kind of a future.

She loves him. She gave up on lying to herself about it a while ago. And now, she’d have to let him go. Everything he’s gone through, he deserves to have his every wish come true. And if what he wants are kids and travel? 

She’s going to step out of his way and let him have it, even if it can’t be with her. 

With a smile pasted on her face, she fights through the next hour. As soon as Kate leaves, Amelia slips away to her office, planning to throw herself into work. Instead, she ends up sitting at her desk, flipping a pencil between her fingers as she stares blankly at the wall in front of her. 

Bucky finds her there three hours later. Lost in thought, she startles when he walks in.

“Whoa, hey. Sorry. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, just a bit tired, I think. What’s up?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question. You missed dinner.” He pulls a chair around, and sits across from her at the desk. She shifts her gaze away from the concern on his face. 

“Sorry. I got started in on a project and lost track of time.” 

“Yeah? Because I just stood there,” he points back to the door to her office, “and watched you stare off into space for the last five minutes. What’s going on?” 

She runs a hand through her hair and gives him a sheepish smile. “I think I’m just overtired.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” She stands up and grabs her bag. “Ready to go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	30. Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hesitantly comes out of hiding*
> 
> This was a hard chapter to write, and I was dealing with some family drama while writing it that made it more of a challenge than usual to write anything worth reading. But, here's the next chapter. No promises on mistakes; I managed two hours of sleep last night, and am sitting here trying not to fall asleep while writing this. 
> 
> I leave for Brooklyn on Thursday. I don't know if Coney Island is going to happen (a bit crunched for time), but I'll post some other notable pictures on my Tumblr (amenthystflame). I don't know how much writing I'll get done on the bus (I hate writing where other people can read over my shoulder), but I'm going to try to get some done during the evenings. Also, if you're on Tumblr, let me know in the comments. I'm always looking for new people to follow.

Bucky lays awake late that night, watching Amelia sleep. She’s curled into herself on her own side of the bed, and he knows there’s something wrong. He just can’t figure out what it is, or how to fix it. 

She was fine until Kate stopped by with Briony. And she was fine while her friend was here. Kate and Briony left, Amelia mumbled something about work, and then she disappeared for almost the rest of the day. 

Maybe it’s work related? But that doesn’t feel right either, really. Maybe he’s just overthinking it. He slips his arm over her, gently pulling her away from the edge, and, in her sleep, she turns, clinging to him. He runs one hand along her back until she settles again. 

She matters. The Soldier tells her that, simple words saying the things Bucky can’t quite express sometimes. In a way, his darker half has it easier. There are fewer shades of gray in his world. He fights when he’s told to, and holds tightly to what is his. 

And Amelia? She’s his. He’d fight for her. Tear the world apart, if it meant keeping her safe, with a level of protectiveness he doesn’t even feel for Steve. 

Bucky readily agrees. 

But this? He doesn’t know how to fight this. So he just holds her close, hoping that, by tomorrow, she’ll be ready to talk.

***The Next Morning***

Amelia wakes up in Bucky’s arms, face pressed against his chest. Even in his sleep, he’s holding her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched, and she has to choke back tears. 

As quietly and carefully as she’s able, she pulls away, getting dressed and slipping out as quickly as possible, bypassing her office for Tony’s private loft. Pepper is already at work, leaving Tony to wander around in his sleep robe, smoothie in hand. He glances up when she walks in, and barely gets a chance to speak before she is laying face-down on his couch. 

“Alright, kid. Spill,” he says, lifting her legs to sit down beside her.

Amelia mumbles half-formed words into the couch cushions.

“Nope. Didn’t get that.” 

She rolls over. “I’m an idiot.” 

Tony sighs, and tugs her up to sit next to him. “This has to do with Barnes?” She nods. “I’m guessing seeing him with a baby in his arms was a bit too much for you?” 

“He wants kids. He wants travel. He’s finally comfortable enough to start trying to figure out what he wants in the future-” 

“-and you don’t think that’s you. Well, you’re right about one thing; you’re definitely an idiot.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“No, look. I get it. I do. You think I haven’t looked at Pepper and just knew that there was someone else out there who would be so much better for her than I am? Of course, I have, but you know what? That’s not my decision to make. It’s hers. And maybe once everything is out on the table, Bucky decides that it’s too much, but I’m guessing not. Either way, he should get a say. The guys had enough of other people making decisions for him to last a lifetime or two, don’t you think?” He pauses. “And, besides, if he walks away, I can kick his ass to the curb. No one gets to hurt my friends.” 

“Don’t you dare.” Amelia sniffles wetly, and Tony shoves a nearby box of tissues against her chest, barely concealing his look of disgust. “He’s a good man, and he’d do the right thing, even if it isn’t the right thing for him. And I can’t do that to him, Tony. I won’t. He’s-- He’s doing better. He doesn’t need me as much anymore. Maybe this is an opportunity for him to strike out a bit, and gain more independence.” 

“Or, maybe it’s an opportunity for you to get over your fear that everyone is going to turn out to be like your uncle. That’s not fair to them, kid.” 

“I-- I know they’re not. I- I just don’t--” She gives him a helpless look.

“Scary stuff, right?” he asks, with a sympathetic smile. “You have me, Amy. No matter what, you have me. In time, I hope you’ll finally accept that you have the rest of the team, too.” He settles his arm over her shoulders, and slides her over a little closer. “We have your back. Same as you’d have any of ours.” 

“You’re wrong, you know,” she says, setting her head on his shoulder. “Pepper’s lucky to have you.” 

He just gives her a tiny smile, and sets his head on hers, letting silence fill the room. 

***Tony’s POV***

The night he met Amy was one of the worst nights of his life. He was dying. Days left, probably. The arc reactor keeping him alive was slowly killing him, and he was out of time. 

Two days before his birthday, three before Fury and Agent Coulson put him under house arrest, he met someone who was having just as much of a shitty night as he was. So they went back to his condo in Manhattan, he pulled out his most expensive bottle of scotch, and they talked. Everything out on the table, confessions fueled by alcohol and the desperate need to be heard, to connect, if only for one night.

They woke up the next morning, curled up together in his oversized bed. Clothes on. She made pancakes, they spent the morning getting manicures, and then she left. He went back to Malibu. She went back to her tiny apartment in the Bronx, thinking she’d never hear from him again.  
Long story short, he lived, and two weeks later, he was knocking at her door, taking in the surprised look on her face with a hint of guilt. 

One night of conversation was easy. Getting her to accept his friendship? Much, much harder. She didn’t believe that his overtures of friendship were anything more than pity. But, he never gave up. 

More importantly, she never gave up on him. She told him when he was being an ass, and talked him through some really bad moments. And when he needed her, there was never a time that she wasn’t there. 

But it was more than that. She was someone to laugh with. Someone smart and curious enough to maybe not understand the intricacies his work, but at least be excited about it. Amy didn’t fly, so he learned to appreciate the chaos of road trips. And what she lacked in scientific know-how, she made up for in having a practical nature that helped him to turn his fantastical ideas into something actually useful. 

In return, he got her hired at the little marketing firm in Eddisburg, and then helped her buy a home in the area. Her relief at getting out of the city made the little bit of effort he put in more than worth it. And they still met up as often as possible. He loved Pepper, always would, but Amelia was his friend. He hadn’t had many of those, not really. 

And then, the Chitauri invaded, and he risked everything to save the world, nearly dying in the process. Waking up to her standing nearby, having her there when he finally managed to stagger to his feet… He was both mad as hell that she risked herself for him, and touched that she would. 

And now, she’s hurting, and he can’t protect her from this. There’s no invention that can fix a broken heart. He knows; he’s tried once or twice. The best he can hope to do is support her, and maybe convince her that the rest of the team wouldn’t push her away. 

She’s scared. He doesn’t blame her. The world is a cruel place sometimes.

***

Bucky knocks on her office door before letting himself in. It’s been three days of...whatever is going on, and he doesn’t know what to do. She’s distancing herself, smiling less. And seeing her struggle is breaking his heart. 

So, he finished sparring with Steve a bit early, and told him to go get ready. They were going out.

“Hey, doll,” he says, when she looks up at his knock. 

“Hey, Bucky. What’s up?”

He tugs around the extra chair, spinning it around backwards and sitting down across from her. “You’ve been cooped up in your office all week. I miss you.” 

She blushes and looks away. “Sorry. We have the Atlanta convention in a couple weeks, and I have twice as much work as I usually do at the moment. I’m not trying to ignore you.” 

“Take the rest of the day off.” 

“I can’t, Bucky. I--” 

“You can, actually. I already cleared it with Tony, and Steve is going with us. Let us take you out. Just-- just a friend thing, if you’d prefer.” 

Her face falls, and he can see the guilt in her eyes. He reaches out before she can say no, taking her hand, and waiting until she meets his gaze again. 

“Amelia, I don’t know what’s wrong, or why it feels like you’re pulling away, but I want to make it better. Please. Let me fix this. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “No! No. It’s not you. I swear, Bucky. You haven’t done anything wrong. Please, don’t ever think that.”

“Then what’s going on, doll? Am I taking things too fast? We can slow down. Or, is there something else going on?” 

“It’s just...my own stuff. I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just-- I’m okay. I promise.” 

She’s lying, but at least she’s talking to him again. 

“Then prove it. Let Stevie and I take you out, sweetheart. Please.” He’s almost begging, but he doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is making sure she’s okay. Everything else is secondary.

She looks like she’s trying not to cry, and he’s fighting to not turn and run. He doesn’t think holding her will help right now, either, though. Not when it looks like she wants to run, too. 

“I don’t know if I’m very good company right now.” 

“I don’t care. I just want to spend time with you.” 

He sees the moment she gives in, shoulders losing tension and her eyes softening. “Okay. Give me a bit to get ready.” 

He grins, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to her lips. “I promise you won’t regret it. Thank you.” 

She nods, and starts putting her stuff into her purse, and then follows him down to their apartment, disappearing into the bedroom.

Steve shows up ten minutes later, freshly showered and ready to go. “Did she agree?” 

Bucky nods. “Took a little convincing, and she still won’t talk to me. Not really. What am I doing wrong, Steve?” 

Steve just sets a supportive hand on his shoulder, and casts a worried look towards the bedroom hallway. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Steve offers. 

“Think that’ll help?” Bucky asks. “She’s pretty set on insisting that there’s nothing wrong, or at least nothing I can help with.” 

“Be patient with her. And just be there when she needs you.” 

Yeah, great advice, but he can’t help the thought that maybe the problem is that she doesn’t need him. 

They start the afternoon off at a bowling alley, and then head to a pizzeria for dinner. Throughout, Amelia is a bit distant, not laughing or smiling as easily as she usually does. And he hates it. 

***

Steve takes them to a tiny club in Brooklyn, of all places. Barely more than a hole in the wall, but Bucky recognizes it as soon as they walk through the door. 

“We’ve been here,” Bucky says.

“This was your favorite place,” Steve explains. “They’ve changed a few things, but they’re still open.” 

They get a table near the back, and Steve orders the first round. There’s a live band and a dance floor that’s already full of couples spinning this way and that. All big band stuff. All the sort of music Bucky used to love. 

Amelia sits between them, the safest place in the club. He sets a hand on her thigh as he checks over the club, and she sets her hand on his, giving it a light squeeze. 

Bucky takes Amelia’s hand, and leads her to the dance floor. She settles into his arms as he begins to move in time to the music, something slow and sweet. He holds her as tightly as he dares. The whole night has felt off, and holding her now, the way she’s tucking her head against his neck, eyelashes tickling against the sensitive skin there, feels a little too much like a goodbye. 

The next song is a little more upbeat. She gives him a shaky smile, and he spins her around the dance floor. He spins her out and then back in, and she falls against him with both hands against his chest, expression happy and unguarded for the first time in too many days. 

***

_The Soldier didn’t dance._

_But when they send him into a crowded club during the winter of 1972, there’s something about the music playing that gives him pause. A song. A bit of melody. He doesn’t know it, of course he doesn’t. But the tune haunts him. For a moment, he remembers bright red lipstick and soft hair curling around his fingers. His fingers twitch at the memory, and he glances down at the concealed metal hand._

_No. No, that wasn’t right._

_“Soldier.”_

_The voice in his ear refocuses him. He clenches his fist, then lets it relax again, moving forward towards his target. It doesn’t take long. She’s snorting coke in the upscale bathroom when he breaks her neck. She falls soundlessly to the marble floors. Mission completed._

_He is supposed to climb out the window, drop the three stories to the street below, and return to his handlers. But, just for a moment, he pauses, listening to the music play. He thinks maybe, once, he knew this song. He closes his eyes. Concentrates._

_The soft curves of a woman in his arms, her head a mop of red curls. The image fades almost as soon as it appears._

_The next vision is of a young man. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tiny. The Soldier could snap him with a single hand, but the thought of doing so is so repugnant that he immediately puts it out of his head. The man is awkwardly trying to ask a dame (how does he know that word?) how to dance. The Soldier studies the man, and suddenly, his head is pounding. Pain erupts across his temples, and he groans, knees shaking._

_Time to go._

_He hurries through the window, dropping to the ground, barely seeing well enough to make it back. The memory of the man, whoever he is, hurts. He must be malfunctioning._

_The Soldier tries to forget the man, shoving the memory away. It works well enough to get him back to his handlers._

_They bring him to the chair after he gives his report. He tells them about the song, and the man. They exchange worried glances as the chair starts up. He’s scared, and it hurts._

_When he screams, he finds the man’s name._

_And then, there is nothing._

***

They leave the club some time after 10. Steve drives, and Amelia sits in the back with Bucky, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. They danced half the night away, and she even managed to get Steve out on the dance floor a few times. Her face is a bit pinched, and she looks exhausted, but it was a good night, all in all. 

Bucky is in bed before Amelia, and when she pulls back the covers, he is already reaching for her. She hesitates, and then carefully slips into his arms. He kisses her gently. And when she pulls away a minute later to set her head in the crook of his neck, he pretends he doesn’t see the tears on her face. 

***

The first night she doesn’t come to bed, Bucky finds her at her desk, sound asleep with her head next to her keyboard. He lifts her up and sets her on the couch, covering her with the spare blanket before shutting down her computer. He spends a restless night in their bed before getting up early to deliver coffee and breakfast, setting it on the coffee table for her to find when she wakes up. 

And then he heads down to the gym. Steve is on a treadmill, but stops when Bucky comes over. Steve takes one look at him, hops off the treadmill, and heads towards the mats. Bucky, grateful, follows. 

“Rough night?” Steve asks, after they’ve gone a few rounds. 

“She slept in the office.” He blocks Steve’s punch, dropping at the last minute and kicking up at his chest from below. 

“Have you talked to Tony?” 

“I’m not talking to that tin can about Amelia.”

“Bucky!” 

“They’re friends. He’s not going to tell me anything.” 

“He’s your friend, too, and he’s worried about her, same as you are. He might be a good person to talk to.”

Bucky grunts, and aims his knee for Steve’s side. Steve deflects, swiftly moving aside and yanking Bucky’s leg up, but Bucky’s prepared, and locks his legs around Steve’s waist as he starts to fall, bringing the other man with him into a tangled pile of limbs. 

Steve goes to roll away, but Bucky locks his legs tighter, rolling until Steve is beneath him. “Old age catching up with you?” 

Steve glares, shoving him off (Bucky lets him) and bounding fluidly to his feet. 

“Deflect all you want, pal.” 

Bucky pushes him one last time, and heads for the lockers, leaving Steve calling his name behind him.

The next week goes by, and nothing changes. She’s back to their apartment late, if she even makes it back at all. When she is around, she’s withdrawn, One night, when she isn’t back to the apartment by 11:00 Bucky goes up to the office to check on her, only to find her sound asleep on the office couch, paperback splayed open on her chest.

No one needs to spell it out for him.

She’s been avoiding him for the past ten days. If she really doesn’t want him around anymore, then he’s willing to step back and give her the space she needs. He leaves everything where it is--he can come back for it tomorrow--and slips into his room in Steve’s apartment. He hears Steve shift in the bed and knows he’s awake, but he doesn’t come out to ask questions. Probably good, because Bucky doesn’t know what he’d say. The morning is going to be hard enough. 

He sleeps, barely, tossing and turning all night and hating how big the bed feels. Alone, the sheets are too cold, and the loss of Amelia at his side leaves him feeling restless. 

He waits until Steve heads down to the gym for his run to slip across the hallway and gather his things. Ice runs in his veins the whole time, but he’s done in three loads. Before grabbing the last of it, he wanders through the apartment one last time. His gaze lingers on the bed--their bed. He could have spend the rest of his life with Amelia sleeping at his side. 

Apparently, she didn’t feel the same. 

Steve comes back, peeks into his bedroom, and then comes back out, setting a steady hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine. Dr. Gallager thought it was time to try sleeping on my own anyhow.”

“I’ll talk to her. I’m sure there’s just some miscommunication. Amy--” 

“--has been avoiding me for the last ten days, pal. My brain might still be be a bit scrambled, but I’m not an idiot. Leave her be. I don’t want to make this any worse.” 

Steve nods, but Bucky can tell that he’s still trying to work out a way to help. Let him. Bucky sure as hell couldn’t do anything about it, and he’d tried everything he knew. 

For the next couple of days, Bucky avoids any group get-togethers, and according to Steve, Amelia is doing the same thing. He knows that everyone must have noticed, and is thankful that no one says anything. And if he’s a little rougher on everyone during training exercises? Well, that goes uncommented on, too. 

***

When Amelia comes home from work and sees that Bucky has taken all of his belongings from their apartment, she numbly pours herself a bubble bath, sinking down into the bubbles to hide from the world. 

She tells herself that she can’t focus on what she’s losing. What she’s giving up is something that was never hers to begin with. She believed in a fairytale for a while. That’s all it was. 

So, she focuses on the good. She might be struggling, and he might be too, but in the end, he’s going to have so much happiness. A family. Seeing the world. An amazing girl who will love him more than he could have ever imagined, during his time as the soldier. She’ll be his friend. She’ll always have his back, and if he ever needs anything, she’ll be the first in line to help. 

She loves him. And that’s why she has to let him go. 

And if it still hurts, well, that’s only fair. 

***

The first time she sees him again, the team is getting ready for a minor skirmish in Queens. Nothing big, nothing that required the whole team, which was good, seeing as Tony, Steve, and Bucky were the only ones in residence at the moment. 

She wishes them all luck, and then slips into the control room, setting in her earpiece and watching the whole thing unfold. It’s over within an hour, and the men are on their way back, mostly unharmed, not counting a six-inch gash along Steve’s side. Amelia is waiting at medical when they arrive, noting the way Bucky and Tony are both hovering as she steps up with the medical team. 

Steve gives her a pained smile. “It looks worse than it is, I promise.” 

“If you’d have stepped out of the way when I told you to--” Bucky starts. 

“I’m fine, Buck.” 

Amelia glances to Bucky, and he looks back. His lips quirk up in shared frustration, the expression quickly lost beneath the questions in his gaze. 

She quickly turns her attention back to Steve. 

Tony, of course, witnesses the whole thing. She tries to avoid his gaze, too, until he heads off for a shower once the on-call doctor pulls Steve back to an exam room. 

Bucky and Amelia both go to follow, only to find the door closed in their faces. Amelia finally glances over, finding his steady gaze on her. 

“How are you doing, doll?” 

“I’m-- I’m okay,” she lies. He doesn’t believe her, but he nods anyhow. 

“I--” He takes a breath, thinks over his words, and reconsiders. “Good job today.”

“Thanks.” 

_I miss you,_ she wants to say. _I’m sorry. Forgive me._ But all the words are caught in her throat. So she goes to sit over in one of the waiting chairs, Bucky sitting nearby. He’s tense, staring at the door, hands curled tightly on his lap, and she wants to reach out, but it’s not her place. Not if she’s going to let him go. 

Finally, Steve comes out, shirt torn and bloodied, but already looking a lot better. He gives them both a tired smile, and they all start towards the elevator in silence. 

“We’re going to be watching movies later, if you want to come over,” Steve offers, as the elevator starts moving. 

Bucky shoots Steve an incredulous look. 

“I, uh, I really can’t. Thank you, though. Maybe next time.” 

Steve looks between the two of them and shakes his head. “Yeah. Sounds good.” 

***

Steve shows up in her office the next morning. “Mandatory training this afternoon,” he tells her, walking in. “We’re running some new maneuvers. I want you to be there.” 

“Got it. After lunch?” 

“We’re meeting around 1:00.” He comes further in, pulling a chair around. “What happened?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever is going on between you and Bucky, you can talk to me.” 

She nods, throat tight. “I know.” 

“Amy--” 

“He didn’t do anything wrong. Just-- Please make sure he knows that.” 

“Yeah. I’ll tell him.” He looks down at his hands, and then back up at her. “How long have you been in love with him?” 

She laughs, but it’s almost a sob too, and she’s fighting not to cry. “Almost since the beginning, I think. Maybe even before them. You’d talk about him, and--” She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter though. I have my reasons, Steve. This isn’t just--- I never meant to hurt him. I shouldn’t have let things get as far as they did.” 

“Talk to him.” 

“Nothing I can say. Not for this.” 

Steve nods. “Are you okay, at least?” 

Amelia gives him a watery smile. “I will be.” 

He stands up, coming around to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “You have me. Don’t forget that, alright? Nothing’s changed. And when you’re finally ready to talk, I’ll be here.” 

***

Bucky runs towards Steve, leaping at the last minute as Steve hunches down, turning the shield into a launch pad and propelling Bucky nearly twenty feet into the air. He flips on his way down to the ground, landing smoothly. His gaze flickers up to Amelia, sitting not far away, and she quickly averts her gaze, turning her attention to Tony, Clint, and Natasha, who are working on some advanced attack. 

She had hoped that spending time away would make this easier. It hasn’t. She can hardly breathe when they’re in the room together. Her hands itch to reach out. Her heart breaks all over again every time their eyes accidentally meet. 

And he’s trying really hard to not look at he while acting like everything's normal, but every now and then, she feels his gaze on her, and she has to fight not to look up. She’s trying to act like everything is normal, too. 

They’re both horrible at it. 

Because for every time he looks at her, she looks at him, too, as soon as his gaze pulls away. She can see the way he’s holding himself a bit too carefully, and the way he is trying so hard not to look her way, until he does, and their eyes meet again before one of them jerks their gaze away again. 

***Bucky’s POV***

Amelia and Tony leave on Tuesday for the Atlanta convention, taking one of Tony’s fancy sports cars. They’re on their way just as the sun comes up. Bucky watches them go from across the garage, hiding in the shadows. 

She knocked on his door a half hour ago, to say goodbye. Steve opened the door, saying goodbye for both of them while Bucky pretended to still be asleep. He came out as soon as she left, earning him the third degree from Steve. 

The next night, he grabs Steve and drags him out to one of the more popular downtown clubs. All he wants is to lose himself in the music, and maybe forget everything for a few minutes. 

The irony is killing him. Months of trying to remember, and now, he just wants to let it all go.

He catches her watching him from across the room. Blonde hair hangs halfway down her back, and dark red lipstick draws attention to a perfect smile. When she crosses the dance floor, he knows he should turn away, but Amelia’s rejection still stings.

“Hi. I’m Heather. Wanna dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ducks*


	31. Dinner Dates in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brooklyn was amazing. Manhattan was amazing. I can't wait to go back again, hopefully sometime soon. 
> 
> Remember all of the times I've promised that this story has a happy ending, with Bucky and Amelia together? I need you all to trust me just a bit, here. I've gotten a lot of concerned comments. The promise still stands. 
> 
> When the idea for this fic first popped up in my head, it came with all of the major plot points in place. I've known this section was coming from the first. I also know how it ends. It's worth it. 
> 
> And, you know, trust me. I know what I'm doing. ;) 
> 
> With that, jump in and enjoy. The next chapter is 75% ready, so it should be up within two weeks. For those of you reading If Once I Fell For You, I'm missing the final scene for the chapter, and I'm well and truly stuck. I'm working on it, though, and as soon as I get a break in work, I should be able to finish the last bit. 
> 
> Amelia and my mistakes are mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL.

_“Hi. I’m Heather. Wanna dance?”_

The woman holds out her hand. Bucky slips his flesh and bone hand into hers, and lets her lead him out to the dance floor, aware of Steve’s disapproving look. 

The dame smiles like an angel, and flirts like a devil. She has lean legs that never stop, and a short skirt that shows them off to her full advantage. 

A part of him is smitten from the first. 

The rest of him is battling with self-loathing. 

But she fits nicely in his arms, and it’s just a dance. Doesn’t mean anything. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Heather says, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Bucky.” 

“Bucky. That’s not a name you hear every day. I’ve never seen you here before.”

He swallows. “First time.” 

“Yeah? Maybe I can help you find a reason to come back.”

Bucky smiles down at her, and feels her tighten her hold just a bit, so he tugs her in. 

One dance turns into half a dozen, and when she slips him her number at the end of the night, he sticks it in his pocket. 

***

On the way home that night, he decides to toss the number as soon as he gets back to his apartment. And he does. But from one glance, the number is engraved in his memory (hilarious how that works), and a couple days later, he rings her up. He means to just thank her for a good time, but somehow ends up asking her out again before he can think twice about it.

He hangs up the phone feeling equal parts terrified and disgusted with himself. He’s also kind of looking forward to seeing her again. The problem is, he can’t walk past Amelia’s door without feeling like the worst kind of scum. She deserves better than this. 

Then again, so does he. And she walked away first. 

So he keeps his plans to himself, and when Thursday comes, he gets ready in silence, ignoring the way his anxiety is all over the place, and then tries to walk out the door without Steve noticing. 

No surprise, it doesn’t work.

“Heading out?” 

Bucky pauses. “Yeah. I’m, uh, I’m taking Heather out to a picture.” 

“Movie. It’s called taking a girl out to a movie. You sure you want to do this?” 

Bucky clenches his jaw at Steve’s tone. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because, the way I see it, you’re in love with Amelia, and whatever happened between you two, stepping out with a new dame ain’t gonna solve it.” 

“Amelia made her wishes pretty clear, there, pal. She’s living her life, and I’m living mine.” 

Steve shakes his head. “When she gets home, you get to tell her. I’m not getting involved in this.” 

Bucky pauses. It’s fair. It’s only fair. And it’s not like he has anything to feel guilty about, right? Still, he has to swallow hard before the words come out. “I’ll tell her.”

***

The best thing about traveling with Tony is the quality of resorts they stayed at. Resorts. Not hotels. These places always had personal chefs, masseuses, and every amenity Amelia could think up. 

The worst thing about traveling with Tony was the quality of the resorts they stayed at. Tony was used to being fussed over by a team of assistants, resort managers, and any other employee they came across. 

Amelia just wanted to make them all go away. 

“Miss Cassidy, do you require assistance with your bags?” 

Case in point. An afternoon of shopping, she has a few bags, easily held in one hand, but this was the fourth person who’d asked if she needed help. 

“I think I’ve got it, but thank you.” She smiles graciously and hurries past. Four days down, and three to go, but her and Tony both had the afternoon free, so while he was being pampered, she went out to see what sort of interesting treasures she could find in the quirky little historical shops she found downtown. She came back with souvenirs for the team, and some new sheet music for the piano. 

Without Bucky, she’s been struggling to find ways to fill the time. This’ll do as well as anything else. Maybe it’ll distract her for a while. 

***

Amelia is gone for two weeks. On the day she’s set to return, Bucky spends twenty minutes in his bathroom, staring at his face in the mirror. 

“Amelia, I met someone. Her name is Heather, and she’s great.” 

He frowns. That was horrible. 

“I met someone. I just wanted you to know.” 

Better. 

“I miss you. And I have no idea what I’m doing. She’s nice, but she’s not you.” 

His voice cracks on the final word, and he drops his head. God. How was he going to do this?

***

Tony and Amelia make it home in record time (sometimes, as much as Amelia hates the thought of flying, even she has to admit that it’s probably safer than Tony’s driving), and she goes straight to her apartment. She means to just unpack, but the trip catches up to her, so she lays down for a short nap. 

And doesn’t wake up again until the next morning. 

She reaches her office early, and barely leaves until late, wrapping up loose ends from the convention and reaching out to new contacts. 

The next day, she’s in meetings with Pepper at a few different downtown offices, preparing to roll out the next phase, taking the solar battery from prototype to consumer product. 

So, when she gets back to the Tower, she’s tired and a little bit bedraggled. Her feet and legs are aching, and all she wants is a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a mindless chick flick. 

Unfortunately, that’s not what the universe has in store.

The elevator door opens, revealing Bucky, dressed up and hair slicked back. He’s back to wearing a glove on his left hand, she notices immediately.

“Bucky, you-- You look nice.” 

He flushes, and gives her a nervous smile. “Thanks. I’m-- I’m seeing someone. We’re going out for dinner tonight.” 

Her chest tightens, and she suddenly can’t breathe. “That sounds-- That’s- that’s great. Have a great time,” she says awkwardly, before walking past him towards her apartment. She makes it as far as her living room before her shaking knees give out.

She sinks to the carpeting, arms tucking around her legs. This is her fault. But if he’s moving on, it’s for the best. He’ll be able to find someone worthy of everything he has to offer. 

And Amelia? She can go back to living the life that she accepted as hers long before Bucky was in the picture. Wasn’t like this was something new. 

***

Steve hears Amelia’s door close just over a minute after Bucky left for his date. She’s been home two days, and he’s barely seen her in that time. While Tony went straight to the community room, Amy slipped quietly back into the tower and into her apartment, not saying a word to anyone. 

Steve pulls some leftovers out of the fridge and resolutely makes his way across the hall. It takes a minute or two for Amy to answer the door, and when she does, he can tell she’s been crying, but she smiles brightly at him (even if it doesn’t reach her eyes), and invites him in. 

He sets the food down on the side table and tugs her into a hug before the door can even close. The way she all but collapses into him tells him everything he needs to know. 

“He told you about Heather?” Steve asks carefully. 

“Oh, so that’s her name? He hadn’t mentioned.” Her voice is dull. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for. He seems happy. That was the goal, right?”

“Amy…” 

“I’m fine. It’s okay, Steve. Promise.” 

Steve just holds her, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. She’s not crying, but he can feel the strain of her holding back her tears. 

“I brought dinner,” he says, after another minute passes. “It’s not much, but I thought… Maybe we could watch a movie? Or get caught up on Netflix?” 

Amelia smiles softly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice. Thank you.” 

“Go change into your pajamas. I’ll heat this up and meet you on the couch.” 

Half an hour later, the food is eaten and the dishes cleared away. When Steve returns to the couch, he drapes his arm over her shoulders, tucking her in beside him as they watch something light and funny. 

He’s not surprised when she falls asleep within the hour. 

Steve finishes the episode, and then carries her to bed, tucking the covers tight around her before returning to his own apartment to wait up for Bucky.

***Two Weeks Later***

Steve sits down across from Amelia, fiddling nervously with his water bottle. “Bucky’s bringing Heather to dinner tonight.” 

Amy forced a smile onto her face. “Is he? She’s ready to meet the team, huh?” 

“No, it’s just the two of us, for now. He’s making his mom’s spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Oh, well, that’ll be great.” 

She can feel Steve watching her, analyzing, and she fights the urge to smile a little harder. Tonight is going to be horrible. Maybe it isn’t too late to fake being sick and get out of it. But, no. Faking an illness around the super soldiers is impossible. She has to be there. 

“I’ll be out later. Let him know that I’ll grab some bread from that place he likes.” 

“Let him know yourself,” Steve says. “What’s going on with the two of you, anyhow? And don’t tell me nothing. I’m smarter than that. You two are still avoid being in the same room for more than a few minutes, unless one of us makes you stay. ” 

“ _Nothing._ Seriously. He has more stuff going on than he used to, which is exactly as it should be, and I’ve been tied up with work. Tony’s about to launch the next phase; we’ve all been scrambling a bit.” 

“Amy…” 

“What do you want to hear, Steve?” 

“I don’t know. I-- You know, when I first saw the two of you together, when you told me about him, and then after you woke up, I thought for sure that--” he breaks off. “You were happier. With him, you were happier.” 

She forces a smile. “I’m still happy. I’m just busier. And speaking of which, if I’m going to get through my work, and have time to pick up that bread, you’re going to need to let me get this stuff done.” 

He stands. “Call Bucky, Amy. I mean it.” 

She agrees, and he leaves the office. Amy pulls her phone from her desk before reluctantly pressing in Bucky’s number. 

“Amelia, hey. What’s going on? Did Steve tell you about dinner?” 

“Yeah. I can’t wait to meet her. Steve said that you’re making spaghetti and meatballs. I’m going be down near the bakery this afternoon; do you want me to grab bread?” 

“You’re a peach, doll. Thank you. How’s work?” 

“Hectic. The next phase rolls out next week.” 

“This is the big one, right? That battery he was working on?” 

“The next evolution is solar paneled homes, and Stark Industries is at the forefront.” 

“Look at you, saving the world and stuff.” 

“Hardly. I’m just a lowly market analyst.” 

“I don’t buy that for a minute; I’ve seen you work. Listen, Heather is meeting me in a bit, so I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” 

She pushes the pain away, and forces another smile on her face. “I’ll be there.” 

Amelia hangs up the phone, debates throwing it across the room, and then sticks it back into her desk. 

“You’re pathetic,” Tony helpfully supplies from the open doorway. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I need to hear right now. Thanks.” 

He wanders in, grabbing the spare chair and spinning it around until he is sitting in it backwards, facing her as he leans across the back. “You need to tell him.” 

“He’s with Heather.” 

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s your fault. What is it going to take for you to let any of them in, Amy? Have you even tried?” 

She stares miserably down at her desk.

“That’s a no, then.”

“They don’t need to know.” 

“No, of course not. Except, I know how lonely that gets, kid. And I don't want that for you."

“Easy for you to say. I know it’s stupid and whatever, but I don’t want them to see me as…” 

“Human?” 

“Broken.” 

Tony shakes his head. “We’re all a little broken here in the tower, Amy. We all have cracks. It’s what makes us all stronger. And you’re just as strong as any of the team.” At her dubious look, he continues. “Maybe not in a ‘lifting busses’ kind of way, but you’re tough. I mean, it takes something special to be roomies with the Winter Soldier while he was still at his craziest. And to befriend a time-lost soldier. Or, for that matter,” he pauses, smirking, “to win the respect of an eccentric engineer.” 

“Right place, right time for all three of you, I think. And even if I did want to say anything, how do I? And how do I do it in a way that doesn’t make them turn all mother-hen on me again?”

“And by ‘mother hen’, you mean care? Because that’s what it is. They care about you. Let them.”

She sniffles, and his face falls. He walks around the desk, taking her hand and tugging her up for a hug. “Hey, none of that. We just-- We care about you, Amy. Let us help. You know I’m doing everything I can to solve this, but you need to talk to Bucky. And talk to Steve. Give them a chance, kid. They aren’t going to let you down.” 

***

Amelia picks up bread, gets ready, and heads over to Steve’s by 5:00. She can smell the simmering spaghetti sauce before she even opens the door. 

Bucky sticks his head around the corner of the kitchen, his hair curling from the steam and a light sheen of sweat on his brow. His face softens with relief when he sees her.

“Amelia. Thank god. I need help.” 

She follows him back towards the kitchen as he explains.

“We were out of bread crumbs for the meatballs, and out of bread too, apparently, so I had to run out, but the only place that has the right kind is a dozen blocks away, so now I’m running late, and I have sauce all over my shirt, and Steve is no help at all with this. He’s been burning this sauce since the 1930s.” 

“All the ingredients are in?” 

He nods. “And the meatballs have another 20 minutes. Heather will be here in fifteen.” 

“Got it. Go get ready.” 

He gives her a relieved smile, and it’s the first real smile she’s seen on his face in nearly a month. “Thanks, doll. I owe you.” 

She forces her lips to turn up in a smile, and then starts taking care of the sauce while he scrambles towards the shower. 

Steve wanders in a moment later. “Hey. Sauce duty?” 

“Apparently, you burn it.” 

“Once. I burnt it once. I was fifteen.” 

Amelia laughs. “That’s all it took, huh?” 

“I might have almost set his family’s apartment on fire.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Captain America. How did they choose you again?” 

“Apparently, I’m a good guy.” Steve shrugs. “Are you okay with this?” 

“With making the sauce? Sure.” 

“Amy.” 

“I’m trying to be.” 

He comes over, tugging her into a one-armed hug. “Say the word, and I’ll pull us out early. Any time tonight, alright?” 

“Mm.” She sets her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. “I can handle it. I promise. But thank you.” 

“If you change your mind…” 

“Have you met her yet?” 

“No, but Buck’s told me all about her.” Amelia stiffens. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ve got this.”

Steve nods, giving her a tight squeeze before stepping back. 

Bucky rushes out again ten minutes later. The first thing Amelia notices is the long-sleeved shirt and glove covering his hand. He sees the direction of her gaze, and his fist curls as he looks away. Amelia’s heart breaks. He’s still hiding it from Heather, then. 

He walks the rest of the way into the room, checking on the meatballs real quick before testing the sauce. “Perfect. You’re the best.” He drops a kiss on Amelia’s cheek, and then freezes, eyes going wide.

“Sorry. I--” 

Amelia swallowed tightly. “It’s fine. You should go. She’s probably waiting.” 

Bucky nods, and quickly leaves the apartment. Amelia, meanwhile, resolutely avoids meeting Steve’s gaze, until finally he walks past, setting a steady hand on her shoulder as he goes. 

She can feel the slightest tremble in her hands, and has to fight to keep her turbulent emotions from her face. Because that casual sign of affection, something that used to feel so normal between them, now feels forbidden and wrong. 

And still so right. Like, for just a moment, nothing had changed. Too bad everything had.

Too soon, the door is opening again, and Bucky is walking in with--of course--a leggy blonde on his arm. Steve is the first to greet her, stepping forward to shake her hand, and waving off her insistence on calling him Captain Rogers. She’s looking at him, starstruck, and Steve’s trying to graciously act like a normal guy. Amelia slowly lets out her breath, and then walks over, holding out her hand and hoping to distract the other woman. 

“Hi, I’m Amelia. It’s great to meet you, Heather. Welcome to the Tower.” 

“Bucky’s mentioned you. It’s nice to finally have a face to put to the name.” 

“Has he?” Her gaze shifts briefly to Bucky. 

“Only the good stuff,” he says with a smirk. Steve huffs under his breath. “I need to get the meatballs out of the oven. Make yourself at home, alright?” Bucky squeezes Heather’s arm lightly with his right hand and heads out towards the kitchen, leaving the three of them to stare awkwardly at each other. After a moment, Steve steps in. 

“I think everything is just about ready, if you want to join us in the dining room. Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Yes, please. Is there anything I can do?” 

“Nothing at all. You’re a guest here.” Steve leads the way into the dining area, and they can see Bucky pulling the meatballs out as they pass, using a potholder, even though he’s using his covered metal hand to do it. Amelia slips into the kitchen. 

“What can I carry out?” 

Bucky glances around the kitchen. “The bread?” 

He’s on edge; she can see it in the set of his jaw, so she walks over, setting a hand on his arm, just like she used to do when he first arrived. 

“Are you okay?” 

He takes a breath, lets it out slowly. “Yeah. I- Thank you.” 

She pushes down the jolt of pain at his shy smile and shrugs. “Not a big deal. You’re doing fine, Bucky. And she seems really nice.” With that, she leaves the kitchen, heading back out to join Steve and Heather. The other woman is holding a glass of wine, and asking Steve about growing up in the past. Steve gives Amelia a grateful look as she walks in, drawing Heather’s attention. 

“Everything is nearly ready, if you want to sit down. He’s just putting the finishing touches together.” 

“His mom always used to invite my ma and I over on spaghetti nights,” Steve offers. “It was my favorite meal. Still is.” 

“Well, it smells incredible,” Heather gushes. “I didn’t know he could cook.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he loves spending time in the kitchen. You should ask him to make you pancakes sometime.” As soon as Amelia says it, she wishes more than anything that she could take it back, especially when Heather’s face takes on a thoughtful expression, and then she blushes. 

Dammit. 

“He makes them for dinner sometimes,” Steve cuts in, quick to save the conversation. Amelia gives him a grateful look, and Steve gives a barely perceptible nod in response. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Bucky announces, walking in with a huge bowl of pasta in his arms. He sets it down and then takes his seat, giving Heather a warm smile. 

“Your friends were just telling me about your pancakes,” Heather comments, as they all began to eat. 

Bucky gives Amelia a questioning look. She carefully avoids it. 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I don’t make them all of the time, but I do know how.” 

“Well, maybe you can make them for me sometime?” 

Amelia wants to kick her under the table. She refrains, though, and chooses to study her plate instead. She feels a warm hand land softly on her knee, and looks up to Steve’s questioning gaze. 

She shakes her head. No need for a quick exit. Not yet, anyhow. She’s determined to see the evening through. Still, she appreciates his support. 

The rest of the meal passes with excruciating slowness. Dinner. Dessert. Conversation in the living room. Amelia sits on the loveseat, Steve beside her, and if nothing else, there is a foot or more of space between Bucky and Heather on the couch. Bucky seems intent on maintaining the distance, despite the way that Heather keeps slowly inching closer. 

Finally, the evening ends, and Bucky stands, offering Heather his right hand and helping her to her feet. He gathers her things as she puts on her shoes. 

“I’ll see you down,” Bucky says, handing Heather her bag. Amelia watches them go, finally breathing a sigh of relief as the door closes behind them. 

The moment they leave, Steve turns to face her. “Well, it could have been worse.” 

Amelia just looks at him. “Yeah. I mean, she’s basically perfect, and they’re cute together, but…”

Steve gives her a sad little smile. “She’s still not you.” 

Amelia groans. “That’s kinda the point. If you have cleanup, I’m heading home. I’d just as soon not be here when he gets back.” 

He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Go on.” 

She gives him a grateful smile, and then returns to her own apartment, collapsing onto the couch, head in her hands. 

This was a mess. A huge, ridiculous mess.

Just tell him. Tony’s voice echoes through her thoughts, and she’s pretty sure that she’s too late, anyhow. Nothing to be done for it now. And that’s fine, really. Maybe it’s time to make a few changes of her own. 

Her leg twinges, and she absently rubs her hand along the length of it. Something had to give. So she gets onto her laptop, opens up the web browser, and starts searching.

***Two Days Later***

She walks into the lab, and for once, Tony isn’t neck-deep in wires and miscellaneous bit of technology. Instead, he’s standing near his work station with an envelope in his hands. 

“Tony? Jarvis said you needed something.” 

“Yeah. Got you something.” He holds out the envelope. 

She opens it, finding pictures of a small--for Tony--cabin by the ocean, trees lining the property. Digging further, she finds a map of Vermont and a few take-out brochures. 

“What’s this?”

“Vacation. One of Dad’s old properties. I haven’t been since I was a kid, but the caretaker assures me that it’s ready for guests. Ten days. Not a moment less. You leave in the morning.” 

“Tony--” 

“I mean it, kid. You need to get away for a bit. Sleep. There’s a hot tub. No work. No drama with Frosty’s new girlfriend. Take a break.”

“I--” She blinks back tears, and throws her arms around him. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, kid. You deserve this. Atlanta went off without a hitch. The battery is going to be a huge success. Pepper can’t keep up with the requests for it. You’ve done your part. Now, go bask in the glow of your success.” 

***

Amelia leaves before the sun comes up, taking one of the Stark fleet Jeeps. She was halfway to her destination before stopping for breakfast. By noon, she’s unpacking. 

The cabin isn’t what she was expecting from Tony’s father. It’s small. Simple. Granted, it still has the level of luxury she associates with the Stark family, but here, it’s somewhat muted. The fridge is already stocked, and everything she might need for the two weeks has been taken care of. 

So, she texts Tony to let him know that she arrived safely, pulls out a book, and tries to ignore the anxiety gnawing away in the pit of her stomach.

***

Amelia has been gone for nearly a week, and Bucky is going out of his mind. First, it was two weeks in Atlanta, and now, it’s ten days up north somewhere. 

And he hates it. 

Even if they didn’t spend as much time together, it’s comforting, knowing she’s close by. Across the hall, should he need her. It helps, especially on the nights he wakes up shaking and covered in sweat, decades-old terror coursing through his veins. 

Except now, it’s 2:30 in the morning, and the dream wasn’t anything so innocent as an old memory. It was Amelia, taken by HYDRA, tortured and torn apart as they demanded information. And he could see the whole thing, but couldn’t save her. He was too late, rushing into the empty warehouse to find nothing but her broken body. 

He pulls out his phone, her number half dialed before he hangs up and shoves it into the bedside drawer. He could wake up Steve, if he needs to. But what he wants, what he _needs_ is to hear her voice, to know she was okay. 

He and Heather hit the six-week milestone the weekend before. He marked the occasion by finally removing his glove, showing her his arm, and giving her the bare minimum explanation. When she saw the arm, she pulled back. It took her a while to feel comfortable enough to touch it, and even now, she was giving it wide berth. But he’d expected nothing less. 

She didn’t run, though, and that was something. Might change her mind if she ever learned the full story of his past. Smart girl. She should run. 

Still, if he’s being honest, it hurts, the way she shied away. He’s so used to Amelia’s open acceptance that Heather’s reaction was another bitter reminder that he wasn’t _with_ Amelia. 

Which was why, instead of calling Amelia, he curls his knees up in front of him, breathing in measured puffs, as he gets his heart rate back under control. He doesn’t even consider trying to go back to sleep. No point. So he gets up, grabs a banana from the kitchen, and makes his way down to the gym. Thirty miles on the treadmill should be enough to get him started. 

***

Tony drops by the apartment right after lunch. “We had a hit.” 

Bucky looks up. “Sorry?” 

“A hit. On the guitar. I think we found it, if you were still interested.” He holds out the Starkpad. Bucky springs off of the couch, taking it from his hands.

“Where?” 

“Virginia.” 

Bucky stares at the guitar, tracing fingers over the initials carved into the headstock. “Upload this to my phone?” 

“Already done.” 

“Thanks, Tony. Really.” 

Tony waves him off. “This was all Jarvis.” 

Bucky nods. “Jarvis? Tell Steve to get ready. We’re going on a road trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're following me on Tumblr (http://amethystflame.tumblr.com/), I'll have a sneak peek of the next chapter up within the next three days, for anyone who might be interested.


	32. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> This chapter was fun to write, so I'm hoping you'll all enjoy it as much as I did. Thank you so much to all of you who are commenting, leaving kudos, subscribing, or even just reading. You all make my days just a little brighter. 
> 
> This is the shortest author note ever, because it is nearing midnight here, and I really just can't think of anything meaningful to add. 
> 
> As always, Amelia and the mistakes are all mine. Everything else belongs to MARVEL. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 33: Demons

By the time she gets home from her impromptu vacation, Amelia has made up her mind. Now, all she has to do it get the details into place. It shouldn’t be hard. She’s not picky, and lord knows, between the insurance settlement, her weekly paycheck (which goes mostly untouched while she lives in the Tower), and Tony’s generous hazard pay bonus he deposited into her account--in spite of her protests--after HYDRA bombed her house, a significant down payment won’t be a problem. 

Truth be told, she just can’t sit here and watch Bucky fall in love with someone else. She can’t. 

And, so, she starts comparing areas and looking at available homes. Someplace quiet, she thinks. It was time to leave the bustle of the city behind for good.

She’s checking out a cabin in the Adirondacks when Jarvis’s voice comes through the speakers. 

“Miss Cassidy, Captain Rogers requests your immediate presence in the game room.” 

Amelia glances up from her place at her desk. “What’s going on, J?” 

“Sergeant Barnes is having an episode, and the others are unable to subdue him. I sealed the doors, but I don’t know how well they will hold.” 

She stands and rushes towards the elevator. It only takes a couple of minutes to get to the room in question, Jarvis opening the doors as she approaches and then immediately seals them behind her. 

The room is in chaos. Heather is hiding in a corner, tears rolling down her cheeks. Tony has positioned himself between Bucky and his girl. Steve is picking himself up off the floor, cracked plaster scattering the ground around him, from where he landed against the wall. Natasha is in ready stance, just about to attack again. 

And in the middle is Bucky, his expression resolute even though his eyes are empty. The Soldier, fully engaged and willing to destroy everyone in the room if it means getting free of them. 

He hasn’t noticed Amelia yet, so she approaches Steve first. 

“Get the others and get out,” she tells him with little more than a whisper. 

“We’re not leaving you in here alone.” 

“I’ll be fine. Go.” 

Her voice catches the Soldier’s attention. In the span of a heartbeat, he shakes off Natasha, and crosses the room. Steve steps in front of Amelia and tries to stop him, holding his ground as the Soldier moves forward. Amelia stands still, watching him come. 

“Steve--” she warns. She recognizes the look in the Winter Soldier’s gaze. Dark. Unreadable, to anyone who doesn’t know what to look for. But she’s the hint of recognition in the dark orbs. He’s not going to hurt her. Still, the sight of him stalking towards her is a little unnerving.

“Stand down!” Steve demands. The Soldier narrows his eyes, metal hand striking out and taking Steve by the throat, easily tossing him aside. As soon as Steve is out of the way, the he grabs Amelia and firmly pushes her behind him, positioning himself between her and the rest of the Avengers. 

Amelia looks out around his shoulders, and tilts her head towards the door, signaling for the others to leave. 

Bucky reaches his arm back to her, and nudges her more closely behind him, keeping her out of harm’s way. She sets one hand in the center of his back, feeling the tense muscles beneath her palm. 

“They won’t hurt me.” 

He shakes his head sharply. Finally, Steve gets the others out towards the door, taking Heather with them. It isn’t until the door closes and locks behind them that the Soldier finally lets her slip out from behind him. She slowly moves around to face him, until they’re standing only a few feet apart. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

He tenses.

“No, hey, it’s alright. You know me?” 

It takes him a moment to respond. “Amelia.” Her name comes out as a rough croak, and his shoulders deflate just a bit in relief. “You’re Amelia.” 

“Yeah. You’re safe. It’s okay.” 

“They--” He stops, and she can see his eyes flicker as he struggles with his thoughts. “I didn’t do anything.” As soon as he says it, he flinches, and shies back a step. Conditioned response to any attempt to speak out. 

It’s been more than two months since the last time she saw it.

“It’s fine. I know. You’re okay,” she responds, voice low and soothing. 

He’s trembling, breath coming in sharp pants. Scared to death. She reaches out slowly, and he watches in wary silence as her hand moves towards him. She’s halfway to his face when he reaches back, setting his hand against hers and entwining their fingers, metal against flesh. 

His eyes meet hers, and there’s so much pain in his gaze that she closes the distance without a second thought, her arm going around his neck, tugging him in close. He puts his free arm around her waist, and just holds to her as tremors move through his body. 

“I’ve got you. It’s alright.” He’s terrified, and whatever happened here, as soon as she figures out what that was, she’s going to do everything in her power to make sure it never happens again. 

“Я не хочу возвращаться. Я не хочу возвращаться. Пожалуйста.” His whispered words are thick with desperation. She looks up, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Please, don’t make me go back.” His voice cracks, and she feels tears spring to her eyes. She hugs him tightly, ducking her head against his shoulder so he can’t see. 

“Never. You’re never going back. You’re safe. I swear it.” 

And the Soldier, HYDRA’s fist, their greatest weapon, sinks to his knees, sobbing like a young child. 

He brings Amelia with him as he falls, and she cradles him against her, one arm tight around his back, the other soothing through his hair. She lied. Whatever caused this, she isn’t just going to make sure it never happens again. She’s going to destroy it. Tear it apart with her bare hands. It can’t happen again. No one, not even the Winter Soldier (and maybe especially not the Winter Soldier), deserves to feel like this. 

After several minutes, he lowers down until his head is resting in her lap, steely blue eyes, still wet and red-rimmed, staring up at her as she continues to run her fingers through his hair. He’s holding her other hand in his, clasped over his heart. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” The Soldier says quietly. 

“I know.” 

“That man--Steve--” He glances to her for confirmation, and she nods. “He was trying to protect you. From me. I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t hurt you.” 

She lets her fingers scratch gently along his scalp. “I know. He was worried.” 

“Because I hurt the others.” 

She hesitantly nods. “Something happened. I’m going to figure out what.” 

He looks up at her, and she can see his mind working furiously over something. She’s patient, keeping the steady movement through his hair. 

“I miss you,” he says finally. 

She can’t help the way her voice hitches when she replies. “I miss you, too, sweetheart. Are you doing alright?” 

He nods silently, seemingly content to just lay with his head cushioned on her legs, soaking in the affection as he regains composure. He looks tired in a way that Bucky hadn’t lately, and still pale from the incident. 

Between therapy and just being around friends, Bucky had begun to even out over the past month or two. For something to set him off like this, to pull the Soldier, shaking with fear, forward, it couldn’t have been something accidental. Something, somewhere, got to him. 

The thought reinforces her instinct to protect him. 

He notices the change in her demeanor, opening his eyes to look up at her, gaze questioning. “Amelia?” 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just trying to figure this out.”

He rolls to his feet, and then reaches his hand down to pull her up beside him. As soon as she is standing, his hand slips down her arm to hold her elbow, in a grip that is persistent but not painfully tight. “Don’t.” 

“I’m not going to let someone hurt you.” 

“You don’t risk yourself for me, Amelia. Never do that.” 

“I’ll get the others to help, then, but I’m-- I’m not just going to stand by and do nothing. I can’t.”

His eyes drift down, closing briefly, and Amelia watches the conflicting emotions move across his face. She reaches out, setting her hand against his cheek, and he looks back up at her. 

“You can’t protect me,” he says, at last. 

“I can try.” 

He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to hers, His hand still trembles against her. Several moments pass before he speaks again. “I can’t lose you. Please. I can’t lose you.” 

Her arms come up around him, and she tucks her head against his neck, breathing in the smell of his cologne, laundry soap, and unique scent that was just him. _Leather and spice and everything nice,_ she thinks with a tiny smile. He puts his arms around her, holding her like he’s terrified she might break in his grasp.

She steps in, tightening her own grip. “I’m not that fragile, sweetheart,” she says softly. He strengthens his grip just a bit and presses his face into the side of her head. 

When she finally moves back, he reluctantly lets her go, but not too far. They end up on the couch, the Soldier laying back down on her lap. He turns, his face resting against her slightly curved stomach and arms going around her waist. Just when Amelia is pretty sure he’s fallen asleep, he rolls back to his back, staring up at her. 

“What are they going to do to me?” he asks, and the echo of fear in his voice destroys her. 

“Nothing. They aren’t going to do anything to you. I promise.” 

He nods, trusting her, but worry still creases his forehead. She brushes her fingers along the drawn skin, and it softens and smoothes out beneath her touch. “It’s going to be okay.”

The Soldier turns his face into her touch, and then reaches his hand up, fingers entwining with hers. The look of trust in his eyes breaks her heart. It was one thing, and definitely no small thing, to win Bucky’s begrudging trust. But to earn the trust of this side of him, of a part of him that was never given a reason to trust anyone, is humbling and painful all in one. 

“I need to go,” The Soldier states, after several minutes tick by. “Be careful. Stay safe.”

She runs her fingers through his hair one last time. “Always.” 

He watches her for a moment more before raising their combined hands to his mouth, pressing warm lips to the inner side of her wrist. She shivers at the contact as the Soldier closes his eyes.

Bucky comes to, his head still resting on her lap, and she knows the moment he remembers what happened by the way every muscle in his body goes tight. 

“Bucky, you’re okay. It’s alright.” 

He lets out a breath and sits up, shaking as he looks around the destroyed room. “What did I do?” His gaze takes in the cracked and dented walls, and he winces. “Jesus. Is anyone hurt?” 

“Bumps and bruises. Nothing serious.” 

“Heather--” He looks to Amelia, gaze stricken. “She saw the whole thing.” 

Amelia hesitates. “Yeah. But she seemed okay. I’m sure Steve is out there explaining some of it to her. It’ll be okay.”

“How-- How long?” 

“An hour, maybe a bit more.” 

He lets his head fall back. “Longer this time.” 

“He was scared. Something happened to pull him forward. I’ll review the footage, but I was hoping you might have some idea.” 

“I don’t-- The last thing I remembered was sitting on the couch with Heather. We were playing Poker with Steve, and…” He blinks. “Nothing happened. There wasn’t-- There wasn’t anything.”

“We’ll figure this out, alright?” 

He nods.

“Are you ready for the others to come back?” Amelia asks gently. 

His gaze moves to the door, and then back to her. “I-- Can we stay here, just a little longer? Please. I don’t have the right to ask. I’m sorry. But, please. I need-- I--” He stops, head dropping before he looks back up. “Just… a few minutes?” 

She reaches across to his hand, holding it tightly in her own. “I’m here for as long as you need me.” 

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes, but he holds her hand back just as tight. “I’m never not going to need you, doll. That’s never gonna change. No matter what.” 

Amelia stays silent, but sets her head on his shoulder, feeling the cool metal even beneath his long-sleeved shirt. He shifts a bit, setting the arm around her, and she tucks in closer to his side. Her free arm goes around him, just holding on, providing as much contact as she can. 

“Do you think Heather’s going to want anything to do with me after this?” he asks quietly. 

Amelia squeezes his hand. “I’m sure she will. You’re worth all of the excitement, Bucky and if Heather’s stuck with you this long, I’m sure she sees that, too.” 

He gives a shaky sigh, and rests his head on hers. “Probably time to face this.” 

“It’s going to be okay,” Amelia offers. He nods, and then stands up, helping her up beside him. She hugs him tightly, and then steps away, letting him go. 

“Jarvis, let them in,” he says.

Bucky goes to stare out the window as the door opens. Amelia hangs back, letting Steve cross to him, one hand landing gently on Bucky’s back, words of concern falling from his lips. Bucky nods, and then turns to face the others. 

“Okay, there, Frosty?” Tony asks. 

“Fine.” He swallows hard. “I’m-- I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up. I’ll-” He falls silent when Heather walks in. The younger woman glances around the room, and then centers her gaze on Bucky, walking carefully up to him. Steve stays close, tensing, and Amelia isn’t sure if it’s for her sake or for Bucky’s. 

“Bucky?” Heather starts, in a trembling voice. 

He nods, pensive. “Still me. It’s still me. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” 

“Scared me a little,” she admits with a wobbly smile. “You’re okay?” 

He nods, and she slowly reaches out, setting her hand on his flesh arm, and then stepping in close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. 

“I am now,” Bucky responds at last. 

Amelia sees the way that Heather flinches as the metal arm settles around her lower back, and knows that there’s no way that Bucky missed it. Her heart breaks for him, but maybe it would just take time for the other woman to adjust, especially after getting a front-row seat to the Soldier.

Amelia glances away, towards Steve, who tilts his head, inviting her to join him. She steps over, and he tugs her in for a hug. 

“We were watching everything on a monitor. Are you alright?” he asks quietly. 

“Fine.” She looks up at him. “Heather, too?” 

“No, and she wasn’t happy about it. She was scared to death, though, and it took some persuading to get her to come in with him.”

Amelia looks back to Bucky. Heather is still standing, wrapped in his arms, but when Amelia’s gaze lands on him, he meets her eyes. There’s still despair burning there, even as he’s trying to hide it. And he’s holding Heather so carefully, but the other woman is holding herself a little stiffer than usual.

Amelia nods, a simple acknowledgement of her continued support. “Okay?” she mouths. He nods. 

***Bucky’s POV***

It came too close. The game room was destroyed. His friends bruised and bleeding. Heather was still half-terrified of him, even if she was kind enough to try hiding it. He doesn’t understand why she bothers; he could have easily killed her today. 

So when he offers to call a cab and walk her down, he tries not to take it personally when she accepts. On the way down, she invites him for dinner for later in the week, a reprieve he doesn’t expect, and definitely doesn’t deserve. Still, he smiles and accepts, the whole time not entirely sure if he’s relieved or not.

As soon as Heather is in the cab, Bucky goes back to his room, tugging the guitar case out of the closet and starting across the hall. The guy who owned it had been more than happy to sell it, especially once Bucky handed him an envelope of more than enough money to buy a much nicer guitar. As soon as he got home with it, he tucked it away in his closet, where it had been hiding in there for the last three weeks, just waiting for the right time to pull it out. After Amelia’s help earlier, after the way she fearlessly approached him, he can’t think of any more reasons to wait. 

Amelia’s door unlocks at his approach, and he walks in, hearing her moving around in the kitchen. He holds the case down at his side as she walks out to him, towel in her hands. 

“Bucky?” 

“Hey, doll. I, uhm… I got you something.” He holds the guitar case awkwardly out toward her. 

Amelia’s gaze falls onto the case, and then back up to Bucky, her gaze clouded in confusion. “Bucky--” 

He takes a step forward, presenting the case until she finally takes it from him, setting it gingerly down onto the couch cushions and opens it with trembling fingers. The case eases opens, and she stands unmoving for several seconds. Bucky is just about to check to make sure she’s okay when she reaches out, running her fingers across her father’s initials on the headstock. 

“This-- This is---” Her voice cracks. “How did you find it?”

“Tony helped.” 

She nods, and turns to him, eyes brimming with tears. “I--” 

He takes the final step, pulling her against his chest. “I know.” 

A few hot tears soak into the soft material of his shirt, as he awkwardly rubs his hand along her back. It takes a moment or two to realize that it’s his prosthetic that he’s using, and he flinches a bit, switching to the other. 

Several moments pass before she steps back, turning her attention back to the guitar. Her hands are no longer shaking as she picks it up from the case, examining it briefly before settling it into her arms, fingers moving lightly along the strings. She strums, and then grins. “Needs different strings, and a set-up, but there’s not a new scratch on it anywhere.” 

“Gonna play something?” 

“Oh.” She looks down, biting her lip. “I don’t really know anything.” She thinks for a minute, and then starts softly picking through the beginning of something that almost sounds familiar, probably something he heard one of the others playing. After a moment, she stops. “I guess I have some practicing to do.” She sets the guitar back in the case, and turns back to him. 

“Bucky, thank you. You can’t imagine how much this means.” 

“I have a pretty good idea, doll. And after everything you’ve done, it was the very least I could do in return.” 

“I didn’t--” 

“You spent the afternoon keeping me from killing my friends. You do plenty.” 

She ducks her head, falling silent. 

He reaches out, taking her hand. “I-- I don’t know what happened with us, Amelia. I wish to god that I did. But the worst part of all of it, it was feeling like I was losing your friendship, too.” 

Amelia looks up. “You’re not-- I’m not-- Yes. I- I still want to be friends. I just didn’t know if you’d still want me.” 

He gives a wet laugh. “Always. Come here, doll.” He tugs her in again, tucking her against his shoulder. And after so many weeks her of pulling away and keeping her distance, this feels like coming home, even if it’s only for a short visit. Even if it’s not his to keep. 

***

Amelia is sitting in the community room, legs stretched out in front of her, reading the latest bestseller. Bucky is sitting in the armchair kiddie-corner from her, messing around on his tablet. Neither notices Clint walking in until he’s standing right in front of them.

“Here, I got you a present.” Clint tosses an envelope down into the space on the coffee table between them. “Merry Christmas, or whatever.”

Amelia gives him a questioning look, but looks inside, finding two concert tickets. “These are for tonight. You and Nat been looking forward to this concert since--” 

“Yeah. Mission. No way out of it. Wheels up in an hour. They play again in Denver in two weeks. We already have tickets to that one, so one of you should use them.”

Amelia slides them across to Bucky. “You should bring Heather.” 

He hesitates. “This is your favorite band. Really, I don’t mind.” 

“I don’t have anyone to go with. It’s fine. I’ll seen them the next time.” 

Bucky reluctantly pulls out his phone. “Let me see if she’s free.”

Amelia turns, concentrating on her book as Bucky makes the call. A few minutes later, he sets it back down on the table. “Not her type of band,” he says, with a frustrated sigh. “Did you want to try to find someone else, or--”

Cling glances over. “You could just go together.” 

Amelia looks up, and finds Bucky watching her, a pensive look on his face. “We could. If you’d like to?” 

She smiles. “That’d be great. Yeah.” 

Clint grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _idiots_ , and heads off to get ready for his flight.

***

Bucky and Amelia take their seats as soon as the gates open. Front and center. Clint probably pulled strings to get them. Amelia knows better than to ask anymore, and just accepts it as a perk of being friends with super spies. As soon as he’s certain that she’s settled, Bucky wanders off for a while, coming back with an armload of souvenirs and snacks. 

“What’s all this?” Amelia asks, standing up to grab the snacks and drinks before anything gets dropped.

“I was just going to get a couple of hot dogs, but I passed the souvenir stand, and I thought maybe you’d like something before it all sold out. So, I got us some stuff.”

“This isn’t _some_ stuff. You bought out half of their stock.” 

“Well, I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted. Is it too much?” he asks, looking pensive. “I mean, I might be able to take some of it back--” 

She fights back a laugh. “No, no, it’s fine. Just--” 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a reusable bag and quickly unfolding it. “Came prepared,” he says, dumping most of the souvenirs inside. 

This time, Amelia laughs at the absurdity of it, shaking her head as he takes his seat beside her, grabbing back a few of the hot dogs. 

“You’re a little impressed,” he teases. 

“I’m a little impressed,” she admits. “But, really, you didn’t need to get me anything.” 

“I know.” He takes a bit of one of the hot dogs. “But I was getting stuff for myself anyhow. They had records! I didn’t realize people still made those.” 

“Steve’s record collection--”

“--is mostly stuff from when we were growing up, and whatever Wilson picks up. There’s nothing current. So, I picked chose a few of my favorites.” 

Amelia shakes her head, and situates the bag between their chairs. The rest of the crowd starts filling in, quickly taking their seats, everyone excited and loudly talking back and forth as they wait for the show to start. The guy just ahead of them starts laughing and yelling loudly, and given the smell of alcohol wafting off of him, Amelia is already dreading the half hour wait before the first band starts. 

Bucky flinches during a loud outburst, and she only hesitates a moment before reaching over to take his hand. He entwines their fingers, and gives her a shaky smile. 

The opening band is decent, a group with one or two hits, but not enough time under their belt to get a headlining tour. When the main band takes the stage, the crowd rushes to their feet. The lights start up, and a few pyrotechnics go off on the stage. Fog rolls in and music blares over the speakers as the band comes out and takes their spots. They both whoop and cheer with the rest of the crowd as the first song starts, catching each other’s eyes. Bucky is grinning from ear to ear, excitement lighting up his whole face. 

“This is incredible!” he shouts out. 

Amelia smiles up at him, watching as he mouths the words to the song the band is playing. As soon as the song ends, they cheer, voices lost in the crowd. 

By the third song in, he’s singing along. By the fifth, his arm is around her shoulders, partially to protect her from the overly enthusiastic crowd surrounding them. He looks younger like this, years falling from his face as he lets himself get lost in the music.

One of the other audience members pushes into her in an attempt to get closer to the stage, and Bucky catches her as she starts to lose her footing, glaring at the other man. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, band forgotten for a moment as he looks her over for any injury. 

“I’m good. Thanks for the rescue.” 

He glares at everyone else standing nearby. They all shuffle back a bit, giving Amelia a bit more space. He stays close, closer than he’s been in over a month, and she tries not to notice the way they casually touch, elbows and hips colliding here or there, hands brushing--caresses lingering--as they move to the beat. 

A half hour later, the show is starting to wind down. The band plays the opening notes begin to play, and Amelia can’t hold back her little squeal of excitement as she recognizes one of her favorite songs. Bucky reaches down, taking her hand as the band begins to sing. The next thing she knows, he’s slid the chairs around them back, and is spinning her around in a dance. He’s grinning down at her, his expression open and carefree for the first time in nearly a month. For a moment, she can forget that he isn’t hers and just let the music sweep them away. 

He pulls her in at the last note, the smile slowly sliding from his face as his gaze meets hers, his hot and dark. He pauses a moment, tongue slipping out to moisten his lips before he lowers them to hers. Heavy hands settle lightly on her hips, and she grabs to his upper arms, seeking more contact. Her heart is pounding. His lips are soft and demanding all at once. One hand snakes up into her hair, angling her head to grant better access, his tongue sweeping along her lips, inviting her to open for him. She does, and releasing a needy little whimper as he pulls her closer, losing herself for a moment as the song dies out and the crowd around them begins to cheer. 

Then, reality comes rushing back. She pulls away, eyes wide and wet, trembling fingers coming up to press against her lips. His eyes go just as wide. 

“Shit. _Shit._ Amelia, I’m-- God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-- I don’t know why I- I’m sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair, and she catches the way that his hand is shaking, too. “Jesus. I- Amelia--” There’s regret in his voice, but it’s nearly lost in resounding desperation. Begging for forgiveness or for more contact. She’s not sure which. All she knows is how hard she’s struggling not to reach out, to take his hand or rest her hand against his arm. 

“It’s-- It’s okay. We just-- just got caught up in the music. It’s fine.” She holds her hands in front of her stomach, clasped tightly to prevent them from wandering off towards him.

“Just a kiss between friends.” 

Amelia nods, readily agreeing. “Yeah.” They’re both lying to themselves, and to each other, and she suspects that Bucky is just as aware of that as she is. Tonight… Tonight was amazing. Bucky grinning ear to ear, both of them singing along with the songs they know. It’s a glimpse of the way things used to be, before Heather and before Amelia all but ran away. It still feels so right with him. 

Then they kissed, and woke to the stark realization that things aren’t the same. They can’t be. And she just kissed another woman’s boyfriend. If Heather finds out, there’s no way she’ll be fine with it. This could mess everything up. 

There’s only one more song left, and they stand there awkwardly, enthusiasm gone. Bucky picks up their souvenirs, and keeps close to Amelia on their way back to their vehicle, and it’s a tense ride home. They both barely speak until Bucky’s pulling into the garage. 

“I-- I won’t say anything. To the others, or to Heather. I don’t want you to worry about that. It was just-- Just-” Amelia swallows, and tries to gather her thoughts. “It was a mistake. I don’t want it to ruin anything for you. Heather’s great, and you seem happy with her. I don’t want to be the reason you lose that.” 

Bucky stops the car and turns to her. “I--” He sighs. “Thank you. But it wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to apologize.” 

She gives him a faint smile, and then fights a yawn. 

“Come on,” Bucky says, reaching for his door handle. “Let’s get up home, yeah? You look about as tired as I feel.” 

Amelia nods, following him up. They say goodbye outside their apartment doors, and Amelia goes in, dropping the souvenirs on her couch, nudging off her shoes in the hallway, and then collapsing into bed, thoughts still spinning a million miles a minute. 

After an hour, she gives up on sleep, and goes back out to her office, loading up the realtor website. Something had to change.


	33. The Cost of Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm. Hi. 
> 
> I don't even know what to say. Telling you that it has been an insane several months seems like a poor excuse, but there it is. I'll explain in the bottom notes, if you are curious. 
> 
> I've gotten a lot of questions about whether or not I've walked away from this Broken Chances. That's **not** going to happen. I have a good start on the next chapter already, and there is a lot of the coming chapters that are already written. I can't promise regular updates, but this will get finished. I promise. 
> 
> As far as the story, we have this chapter and then the next, and then things start working out. I've already got that part written, so it's a done deal. :) 
> 
> Also, I want to send out a huge THANK YOU to all of you who are still reading this fic, and to those of you who are reading it for the first time and have managed to make it this far. I really appreciate all of you, and for the returning readers, I'm sorry this took so long. 
> 
> I also want to send out some special thanks to the ladies on Tumblr who kept asking, badgering, and pushing me to keep going. They know who they are. <3

He’s an idiot. An actual fucking idiot. 

Steve is (blessedly) already asleep when he slips in through the front door. Bucky sets his bag inside his bedroom door, and goes out to get a glass of water, eventually winding up on the couch. 

What the hell was he doing? He _liked_ Heather. He liked the way he felt around her, and how, at least until recently, he could be who he was trying to be, without her knowing about his long and complicated past. He liked the way she teased him and tried so hard to treat him like he was just any other guy. 

But he still cared for Amelia, too. And it was so easy with her. Not that she didn’t drive him crazy, but he didn’t have to be that normal guy. He didn’t have to try to be someone he really wasn’t anymore. 

And wasn’t that the thing? 

But Amelia walked away. No explanation. Few apologies. And they were finally back to the point of being friends. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin that. Her friendship meant everything. He could learn to live without her in his arms. But to lose her entirely? He wouldn’t survive it. 

And Heather might be a distraction. He can be honest enough with himself to admit that. And he’s not proud of it. But he does care for her, and he thinks that it could be more, eventually. 

Bucky let his head drop into his hands. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to be doing this anymore. He didn’t deserve Amelia. Someone like that, she should be with someone incredible. Steve, maybe, although he didn’t want her that close to the danger. Anyone that got too close ended up hurt, and between HYDRA and Tony’s mis-firing experiments, she got hurt often enough. He wanted to keep her as far away from the rest of it as he could. 

He couldn’t have her. He didn’t deserve her. She was better off without him. 

Didn’t ring true, though. He noticed that tonight, the dark circles beneath her eyes that even the best makeup couldn’t quite hide. The way her clothes were hanging just a bit looser. The way she pulled away from the others, too, choosing to keep her own company more often than not. 

Just, it wasn’t his place anymore. 

He was gonna spend the rest of his life regretting what he almost had with her. Imagining what they could have been. His heart twisting painfully at the mention of her name. And it was no more than he deserved. Penance. Giving up the most important thing in his life, because he was still too broken to hold onto it. 

It’s nearly dawn by the time he pulls himself from his thoughts. Steve will be up soon, ready to go for his run. Bucky has just enough time to tie on his shoes and grab some water before Steve wanders out of his room, shoes on and ready to go. 

Maybe if he ran fast enough, hard enough, long enough, he could burn this out and just go numb.

***A few days later***

It was perfect. 

Amelia stares at her screen, trying to push down the dizzying swirl of excitement and heartbreak. Twenty acres, including natural hot springs. A beautiful old farmhouse, set back a quarter mile from the road, with a porch that wrapped clear across the front and sides of the house. A large barn. A few cows grazing in the field. A fifty acres of woods and fields, with hotsprings in a spacious cave, just a half mile walk from the home. And the inside of the home needed some work (or a lot of work), but with just a little elbow grease, it’d be beautiful again. 

And god knows, she needs something to keep her mind off everything anyhow. 

She sends off a quick email, asking for more information, and then gets back to her work. There is so much planning. And she wants to get this right. Leaving at all made her feel guilty enough. 

There’s a response waiting in her email a half hour later. An elderly couple selling their family farm. The property comes with three bulls, more pets than anything else. Non-negotiable, but the neighbor is willing to teach her how to care for them. 

She calls the realtor, and then calls one of Tony’s numerous estate lawyers. The earliest move in date is three weeks away, so she places an offer, and waits to hear back. 

As she waits, she takes her tablet up to Tony’s lab, finding the eccentric genius hard at work on some new contraption. 

“Whatcha working on?” Amelia asks, pulling a stool up beside his work space. 

“Developing some new toys for Barton.” He looks up, the space between his brows creasing as his gaze lands on her face. “What’s up, kid?” 

“Umm.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m moving. I found a place. It’s-- It’s nice.” 

Tony’s sighs, and looks down. “How far away?” 

“Arkansas.” 

He raises his gaze. “That’s… Kid, you don’t have to leave. If this is Barnes---” 

“You know it’s not. I was looking before he even showed up. I just… He needed me, so I stayed.” 

“We all need you,” he offers with a wobbly smile. 

“Tony--” Her voice cracks, and she swallows hard.

He nods, a quick jerk of a motion. 

She leans forward a bit, resting her head against his chest. He steps in, holding her. “How soon?” 

“Three weeks? Give or take a bit.” 

“Soon, then.” The coarse hair on his face rasps along the top of her head as he speaks. “You’re sure this is what you need?”

Amelia starts to lie. She can feel the words, the ones that might give them both some solace, pushing their way out behind her teeth. She swallows them back. “I don’t know, but I’m out of ideas, Tony. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what else to do.” 

***

By dinner the next day, it’s a done deal. She’s signed the papers and faxed them back. Her offer was accepted. For the first time in a while, she ate dinner with the team, sitting quietly, just watching them interact around her. The laughter and smiles. She’s going to miss this. 

Bucky is off on a date with Heather, seeing some show on Broadway. His first time. He’d spent half the afternoon getting ready for it. But the rest of the team, minus Thor, was all sitting around the same table, sharing stories and teasing back and forth. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Steve comments, from the seat beside her. 

“Hmm? Sorry. Lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“Everything alright?” 

She nods, and gives him a small smile. “Yeah, I’m good.” She catches Tony’s gaze past Steve’s shoulder, and he raises his eyebrows. 

She quickly turns her focus back to Steve. 

“I was thinking, maybe in the next week or two, we could go visit the zoo?” The place they’d always gone when he was having a rough time and needed a day away. 

Steve pauses, a flash of concern in his eyes as he realizes what she’s saying. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. Just pick a day. I promise I’ll be free.”

She gives him a grateful smile and then goes back to her meal.

Five minutes later, Jarvis alerts the team to a potential situation in DC. A terrorist organization has taken over the Russian embassy, and they had a small band of suspected mutants with them. 

“Right, that’s it for dinner, then,” Clint comments, looking wistfully at the cupcakes piled on a side table. But Amelia watches as he grabs a couple on his way past anyhow. 

“Amy, I know Bucky isn’t here, and we don’t have time to wait, but do you still have comms?” Steve asks, snagging his own cupcake. 

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Be careful, alright?” 

Steve gives her a wry smile, claps her on the shoulder, and then heads off after the others. Amelia quickly covers the leftovers to stick in the fridge while Jarvis brings her up to speed on everything she needed to know.

***Elsewhere in Manhattan***

“Bucky, I am so sorry. I didn’t even stop to think. I.. I mean, it’s based on history, and involves military, so I thought it might be right up your alley, but I didn’t really think it through. What can I do? How do I help?” She touches his arm, and he fights to not pull away in a blind panic.

Bucky forcibly loosened his grip on the playbill caught in his right hand. The left was currently leaving dents in a metal railing outside the theater. The evening had been Heather’s idea. She even picked out the play. 

Les Miserables. It brought back the hardship of growing up during the depression, the losses of war. The violence, and the young men--men his age, then--torn to pieces. And now, he felt shaky and sick. All he wanted was to go home and curl up somewhere quiet. Push back the memories threatening to overwhelm him. Instead, he swallows hard, and gives Heather a shaky smile. 

“I’m-- I’m fine. It’s alright. Honest mistake. But I think I am going to call it an early night. I’m exhausted. Sorry. Can we take a raincheck on the dancing? Saturday, if you’re free?” 

“That’s fine. Really. I don’t mind. This is my fault. Oh, my god. That was-- it was stupid, and insensitive, and… I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?” 

“Nothing to forgive.” He sets his arm around her waist _(don’t pull away, don’t pull away)_ , and leads her back towards his car. “Let me get you home, alright?” 

She turns to him, setting a cool hand on his cheek. He can’t help the way he flinches. “I thought-- Maybe I could just come home with you?” 

He stiffens. 

She hurries to continue. “I know you’re not ready for anything, but I know you’re not as alright as you say you are. Let me be there. Please? I’ll even sleep on the couch, if you’d like. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Bucky’s mind flickers to the comfort he used to find at Amelia’s side, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be fine. Thank you.” 

He gets her into the car, closing the door for her, before letting out a shaky breath. Somehow, he didn’t feel the same relief at the thought of finding comfort at Heather’s side. Maybe because she’d never done this before. 

Maybe because she wasn’t Amelia. 

Either way, when they pull into the underground garage, he’s pushed the discomfort aside. His hands still shake, and his head is still swimming, but it’ll be better as soon as he can reach the safety of his own room. 

He and Heather are just getting on the elevator when Jarvis comes over the speakers. 

“Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes. Welcome back, Miss Belleview. Sergeant, I was asked to inform you that there is a live mission, and Miss Cassidy would be grateful if you could stop into the mission room at your earliest convenience.” 

“Why wasn’t I informed?” 

“Captain Rogers made the decision to let you enjoy your evening out.”

Bucky grit his teeth. “Tell Amelia I’m on my way.” He turns to Heather. “I might be a while.” 

She presses a kiss to his lips. “Take your time. I’ll be there when you get back.” 

He squeezes her hand gratefully, and keeps a small smile on his face until she steps out and the doors close behind her.

And then he runs an agitated hand through his hair, and lets out a shaky breath. A mission. Probably best he was left behind; he was in no shape to go out with the team right now, not after the failed Broadway idea. 

Amelia barely glances up when he walks in. He takes the second comm set and sits to her left side, pulling it over his head and giving her a quick nod. 

“There are more incoming. I’m counting at least eight.”

“So much for an easy mission,” Clint grouses. 

“Steve, watch your six,” Bucky states, watching as Steve spins around and takes out the guy flanking him. 

“Welcome to the party, Barnes. Took you long enough,” Tony quips. 

“I had my phone on. You should have called.” 

“Not the time,” Steve cuts in. “Glad to have you with us, Buck.” 

He hears the shield clang off something metal, and then a round of bullets. He tenses, and struggles to push everything else aside. His metal hand grips his chair, and he feels the materials groan and creak as his fingers tighten.

Amelia glances down, and then hits the mute button on the console, silencing their mics while keeping the earpieces active. 

“Bucky, what--” 

He forces his fingers open, setting his hand loosely on the desk. Projecting a calm that he definitely doesn’t feel. “I’m alright. I can do this.” 

She nods, and turns the mics back on, going back to her work, but after a moment, he feels her hand wrap around hi, fist still closed tightly. She doesn’t say anything else as the mission progresses--at least, not to him--but her hand never moves. 

He tries to pretend that neither of them notice the tremors.

Before long, the terrorists are detained, but the mutants escape down the coast. As the Avengers give chase, Amelia turns off the mics again and turns back to him. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Amelia gives a hesitant nod, and then turns back to the screen. He sees the flash of uncertainty in her eyes as she pulls away. Bucky mentally curses, and then takes her hand again, pulling her back around. “It’s something. Kind of a shitty night. I’m real glad to see you, doll. After, okay?” 

She nods, and holds a little tighter to his hand. “I’m here when you’re ready.” 

Amelia turns back to her work, but doesn’t move her hand again. Support, quiet and unwavering. He unconsciously moves closer; she’s kind enough to pretend not to notice. And it’s that, the fact that she is not badgering him in an attempt to make it better, that finally gets him.

“Come here.” He tugs her to him, and she wraps his arms around him as best she can from her seat. He sets his head on top of hers, nearly shuddering with relief. He’s shaking again, everything from the day threatening to boil over. So, he presses his face into the softness of her hair, and tries to forget. 

He can’t. 

Faces of men long dead are interposed on the faces of the actors. He can’t shake the memories of piles of the dead, of watching friends fall beside him. All he can smell is blood and death and gunpowder. All he can hear are the cries of wounded and dying men. Guns and bombs going off around him, the ground shaking with the force. He tries to fold in on himself, but there’s something warm and soft that prevents it. Something that doesn’t belong in the midst of war.

“Bucky, stay with me.” Amelia. Her voice brings him back, grounds him. The scent of blood slowly replaced by the smell of her shampoo. 

Amelia has one hand threaded through the hair at the back of his head. He’s suddenly aware of the tears slipping down his cheeks, and how tightly he’s holding her. But she’s holding back just as tight, and he doesn’t have the strength to loosen his hold. 

He doesn’t even know how to explain this to her. Losing it over a silly play, one that no one else in the audience even seemed to blink at. And it started out alright. But by intermission, he was struggling. By the end, he was fighting hard to stay in his seat, and the moment the curtain fell, he was making his way through the crowds, pushing his way outside. He left Heather behind in the process, but he couldn’t breathe. Every instinct was telling him he needed to get away. 

Heather found him out front, a half of a block down the street, fifteen minutes later. He had his head down, fighting the need to puke. She was in tears. 

He felt like an asshole. 

There was nothing to be done for it, though. And as she blubbered through an apology, he was doing his best to hold onto reality. 

Speaking of. He lifts his head, aware that his headset had been removed, and looks at the screen. “The mission…” 

“They’re okay. Still enroute. We have a few minutes.” 

He sighs, pressing his face into her hair one last time, and then freeing one hand to quickly dry his face before she can see. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Better?” 

Bucky nods, relieved to find that it’s true. “Yeah. It’s a good thing this wasn’t Heather and mine’s first date. I would have made a horrible impression.” A half-smile tugs along his lips, and she chuckles in response. 

“Nah. You’d still be worth it. I’m sure she’s smart enough to see that.” 

He sets a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly in gratitude, and then turns back to the mission. His earpiece goes back in, and he hits the button to activate the mics again. 

After a second’s hesitation, he reaches over and takes Amelia’s hand again. She gives him a smile, and goes back to the comms. He’s still off-kilter, but it’s better than it was. They get the team through the mission, hand in hand the whole time. It isn’t until the mission is winding down that Bucky hears the door open behind them. 

“This looks cozy,” Heather says. Her voice is cold and accusing, and Bucky feels a fissure of panic race through his veins. 

Amelia, still caught up in the mission, jumps. Bucky glances over to her, making sure she’s alright before turning to Heather. 

Guiltily, he pulls his hand back from Amelia’s, and his face flushes with heat. “Heather--” 

“Is this how most of your missions go?” 

Amelia shifts beside him. He sees the flash of anger in her eyes, and he cuts in before she can say anything. 

“No. That’s-- She was helping.” 

Her eyes narrow, accusing. “Yeah, I saw that. I just--” her gaze flickers between him and Amelia again, demeanor shifting from anger to concern and sorrow. “I was worried about you. It’s been a few hours. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

He deflates. “I’m alright, sweetheart. Promise. And we’re getting close to done here. I should be down soon, if you’ll still be there?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky nods. “Me, too. Go on. I’ll be there in a bit.” 

Heather gave Amelia one last glance, and then stepped forward, pressing her lips to his before stepping back again. As soon as the door closed behind her, he turns back to Amelia. 

Amelia who has her eyes on the mission screen, already speaking quietly to Steve. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

She sighs, her head dipping before she looks up at him. “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. You weren’t doing anything wrong.” 

He bites down on his lower lip. Somehow, he doesn’t think Heather’s going to share her opinion. He has no idea what he’s going to tell her. 

“I can finish up here, if you want to get going.” 

Bucky casts an anxious glance towards the door, and then nods. “Probably best to get it over with.” 

Amelia reaches out, her hand seeking his, but she stops halfway, quickly pulling her hand back. Bucky tries to ignore the stab of pain at that lost contact, nodding to let her know that he understands. Things could never just be easy, not with them, and this was just more proof of that. 

Heart thudding hollowly in his chest, he leaves the mission control room and makes his way to his apartment. Heather is waiting on the couch, dejectedly picking at her nail polish. 

“That was quick,” she comments softly, looking up at him. 

“Heather, It wasn’t-- Amelia was the first person to reach out to me, after everything, and the first person in seventy years that--” He stops, unsure how to finish that without making things worse. Amelia was the person who taught him to trust again. She taught him how to smile, how to laugh, and how to imagine more for his life than just survival. And Heather wouldn’t understand any of that. “She knew that I was upset as soon as I walked into the room. I guess, I mean, it’s kind of habit to reach out to her.” 

“You have me now, too. I’m here, Bucky. And I feel like I’m not enough, not compared to her. But I’m here. I’m here, and she _isn’t._ ” 

Bucky’s heart sank. “I know.” He takes his space beside her. “I know, and I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not an idiot. I know that you still have a thing for her. But if she wanted you, she’d be here now. She’d be with you. And she isn’t.” Heather takes a breath and looks up at him. “I am. I’m here, Bucky. And I’m starting to wonder if you’re ever going to realize that.” 

Her eyes are wet as she looks at him, and he stumbles under the weight of his guilt. “I realize. I-- I realize.” He turns to take her hand, holding it carefully in his own. The metal arm is tucked to his other side, out of sight. “Tell me how to make this up to you, sweetheart. What can I do?”

She looks up at him from under her eyelashes. “Just stay with me for a while? I missed you while you were gone, and I still feel horrible about earlier.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. sweetheart. I can do that.” He turns, pulling her in with his flesh and bone arm. She sets her head on his shoulder, one hand resting lightly against his thigh. 

He has Jarvis lower the lights, and sits there in the dimly lit room, trying to quiet his thoughts. Heather’s thumb brushes back and forth against the material of his jeans. He knows what she’s trying to do, but he doesn’t feel anything. After the failed attempt at watching the play and then the mission, he’s numb. He needs sleep. 

Heather tries to talk about where they could go for dinner before dancing on Saturday, but after a few monosyllabic responses, she gives up, sitting quietly at his side. Finally, she gets bored enough to kiss his cheek and encourage him to head to bed. 

He hides his sigh of relief until he has the bedroom door closed behind him, hating the relief that spills through his veins.

And if Steve sees anything weird about coming home to find Heather asleep on the couch, he never says anything. 

*****

Amelia is still awake when the team comes back, so she throws on a light jacket and goes up to wait when the jet lands. The others walk past, wearily patting her on the shoulder on the way to their beds. Steve, last off as usual, gives her a questioning glance. 

“Still up?” he asks, pulling her into a quick hug. 

“Yeah. Worried about your roommate.” 

Steve drops his head and tugs off his brown leather gloves. “What’s going on?” 

“Bucky came back from his date upset by something. He never told me what, but he was pretty shaken up. Heather came in towards the end of the mission, and caught us holding hands. Nothing more than usual, right? But it didn’t go well.” 

Steve ran his hand through his hair. “He okay?” 

“I don’t know. He followed her back to the apartment, but I haven’t heard anything. If it was bad, Jarvis would have alerted me. Just…keep an eye out, okay? I’m worried.” 

“Yeah. I’ll check on him. And, Amy? Thanks for letting me know.”

She gives him a tired smile, and he drapes an arm over her shoulders. “You ready to head down?”

“Sounds good. And good job tonight.” 

“You, too. You’re getting good at that. Don’t suppose you might be open to making it official?” 

She nearly says yes. Steve sounds so earnest about making her a part of the team. But she’s leaving in just a few weeks, and it wouldn’t be fair. 

“I don’t think I’d look as good in spandex as the rest of you. Maybe it’d be better to keep it unofficial.” 

He gives her a tired smile, but lets it drop. They hug tightly before going into their separate apartments, and Amelia barely bothers to get into pajamas before climbing into bed, where she spends the next four hours trying to sort out her chaotic thoughts, before finally falling into a restless sleep.

***

Amelia puts it off as long as she can. Four sleepless nights, tossing and turning in her covers, wandering her apartment like a ghost, escaping to Bruce’s rooftop retreat… And none of it helps. None of it calms her nerves. 

Amelia finally tracks Bucky down in the gym. He is working his way around a punching bag, hair hanging in loose tendrils around his face. There’s a pinch between his eyebrows; he’s down here working off some frustration. Still, with a flush of heat along his cheeks and the light sheen of sweat along his muscles, he’s gorgeous. She stands there a moment, watching in silence, committing the moment to memory. Finally, he looks up, noticing her, and his hands fall still at his side. 

“Hey, doll.” Bucky wanders over to the bench, wiping down his face and hands and then grabbing his water bottle. “You alright? You’re looking a bit pale.” 

She swallows hard, fingers twisting in front of her. “Can we talk?” 

Concern settles into the lines of his face. “Yeah. Yeah, let me just grab a towel, and we can sit down, alright?” He grabs the towel from the bench, and gestures for her to join him. “What’s going on?” 

Amelia takes a sharp breath, and forces the words out. “I’m moving.” 

Bucky stills, even has his mind races, wordless thoughts swirling too fast for him to catch. “You’re not just getting your own apartment somewhere, are you?” 

He won’t quite meet her eyes. It makes it hard to read his expression. Gut twisting, she pushes forward. “I bought a home. The paperwork went through this morning.” 

“Congratulations,” he says in a choked voice. “Where--” 

“A tiny town out in Arkansas. Durwood Springs. Twenty acres, a small barn. Hot springs in a cave on the property. The pictures look lovely. It looks...peaceful. I could use that, I think.” Her words are a bit breathy and rushed. Softening the blow, or trying to get it over with. She’s not sure which.

***

Bucky can barely breathe. He’s thankful that he’s already sitting down; his legs feel weak, and he doubts they could hold him right now. Arkansas. That-- “That’s a bit of a distance, doll.” He couldn’t protect her there. More than that, how was he going to survive here on his own, without her? 

“I know. But it’s only a two day drive, and three hours by plane. Less, if you guys take the jet. You could leave after breakfast, and be there in time for lunch. It won’t be so bad.” 

_Don’t go._ The words get caught behind the lump in his throat, and all he can do is nod. 

She sits there, waiting for him to respond, and when he can’t come up with anything, she glances away for a second, and he sees her take a shaky breath before she looks back to him. “I, umm, should go pack. I leave in two weeks. I just--- I wanted you to be the first to know.” He sees her broken heart in her eyes, just for a moment, before stands and she turns away. Bucky watches her go, measured steps telling him that she is fighting the urge to run from the gym. He holds still until the door closes behind her, and then he drops his head into his shaking hands.

Leaving. _Christ._ She was leaving. Halfway across the country, without hardly any warning. And it’s not like he didn’t see that there was a problem. How many times had she said that she wasn’t really a fan of the city? How many mornings had he passed her in the hall, when it had been obvious that she wasn’t sleeping and was spending too much time at work? He knew something was wrong, but he was still stinging from the way she pulled away, and he’d convinced himself that she was fine. And he’d pulled back even further after the kiss. 

Except he knew better. When Tony had sent her away for a few weeks, he worried. He fought the need to drive out there himself and make sure she was okay. Now, he was out of time, and he had no one to blame but himself. 

He has Heather. She has every right to pursue her own future. She’s not tied to him for life, and he doesn’t have the right to ask her to stay. Not when she’s unhappy here. Not when he still hasn’t figured out what went wrong between them in the first place. 

***

“I’m not sure if I like the thought of you moving out there alone, Amy,” Steve says. They’re standing in front of the hippopotamus enclosure, watching a mother and baby waddle through a shallow pond. The sun is shining, but it’s unseasonably cool for early October. They’re both wearing hoodies, and Steve has a blue baseball cap on, disguising his identity.

“Well,” Amelia responds, “luckily for me, I won’t be.” His eyebrows go up. “Alone, I mean. There’s 4,562 people already living in town. Can’t be alone in that kind of crowd.” 

He huffs. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Yeah, I know. Steve, I’m going to be fine.” He’s the third person she’s telling this to. Tony, Bucky two days ago, and now Steve. The rest will learn about it tonight at dinner. Steve drove them out here, and has been nothing but attentive since knocking on her door this morning, even going so far as to pack a lunch for them to share. In a way, that’s making this worse.

Steve stares out across the hippo exhibit, working over his thoughts. “Does Bucky know?” he asks, finally turning to face her.

She nods. “Yeah. I told him a couple days ago.” 

He slumps, looking down and cursing softly before he raises his head to look at her again. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Amelia just regards him warily. 

“Do you love Bucky?” 

She nearly coughs on her water. “Steve-- He has Heather. Even if I--”

“Yes or no, Amy.” 

Her heart is thudding in her throat, loud enough that she’s pretty sure Steve can hear it, too. “Yes. From nearly the first day we met. Yes.”

“Then why are you leaving?” 

Amy lets out a shaky breath, and stares down at where her hands are resting on the exhibit railing. “I was already looking at places before I met him, Steve. I started looking again a few weeks ago, and found the perfect home out there. He doesn’t need me anymore; not really. He’s reclaimed his life, and that includes Heather.”

“Then--”

“Please don’t,” she says softly. “I know you want what’s best for him. Just-- that’s not me. It never will be. Do you think that it didn’t suck to pull away, knowing that it was only a matter of time before someone better came into the picture? Please, don’t make me stay here and watch, too.” 

He sets his arm over her shoulders, tucking her in for a hug. She sets her head against the steady, strong span of his shoulders and tries not to cry as he rubs a hand along her back. “I want what’s best for you, too, and you were happier around him. Don’t think we didn’t all notice that.”

She pulls back just enough to meet his gaze. “I need to go, Steve. I’ll come back to visit, and there will always be a spare room for you out there. But I need to do this.” 

“I know. Just be careful, Amy. I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

She huffs and steps back in again. “I’ll be fine, Steve. Promise. And it’ll be Thanksgiving before you know it. I’ll be back.” 

Steve sighs, his breath ruffling her hair. “I’m holding you to that.” 

***

In true Stark fashion, Tony hosts a going away party two days before she has to leave. At her insistence, it’s kept small; the Avengers, a few of their support staff, and Amelia. 

Heather isn’t there, and even though Bucky tells everyone that she was busy that evening, his eyes shift a bit as he lies. He never told Heather about the party, and Amelia wants to hug him for it. She doesn’t think she could have handled that tonight. 

Amelia is sitting to the side, watching the excitement as it unfolds around her. She can almost overlook the pinched look on Steve’s face, and the barely-hidden grief in Tony’s eyes. 

Bucky still won’t quite look at her, and when they get too close, he looks like a deer stuck in the headlights. 

Natasha comes up to sit beside her, lean legs folded neatly before her. “The jet can get there in an hour, less if it’s an emergency. Your neighbors check out, and we did a perimeter check. We also installed security cameras along the property lines.” 

Amelia just blinks. “Sorry, what-- When did you have time for that?” 

“Clint and I went today, after breakfast. The home is charming; I see why you wanted to move there. You know there are elk and black bear along the back areas. You’ll want to watch for that.” 

She bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” 

“I’ve also arranged a selection of guns for you to bring with you.” 

“I don’t know if--” 

“They’re the ones you’re familiar with. You need to have the means to protect yourself if necessary.” 

“Thank you. You’ll come visit, right?”

The redhead smiles. “Of course.”

***

After Natasha wanders off, Amelia goes to find Clint. He grins at her and pulls her into a tight hug. “Gonna miss you, Amy.” 

“I’ll miss you, too. And thank you, for earlier.” 

“Glad to do it. It was fun; getting out of the city with no one was trying to kill us.” He gives her a lazy grin. “Might stop out next summer for a bit, get some fishing in. I haven’t been in years.” 

“Vacation?” 

He laughs. “Don’t get too many of those. We’ll see. A bit of downtime might be nice.” 

***

Bruce approaches her the next time she’s alone, carrying a medium-sized basket in his hands. He hands it to her as he gets closer. She looks down to see a collection of coffee beans from her favorite places around town and a new coffee grinder. There was also a box or two of tea in there.

“Bruce, you didn’t have to do this.” 

He shrugs. “Something to hold you over, until you find somewhere to get it locally. Or I can bring some out sometime?” 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” She sets the basket down, giving the other man a tight hug. “Lots of open spaces and quiet.” 

“I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

***

Steve tries to act like nothing’s going on; like it’s just another evening with the team. But he keeps looking at her, and Amelia can tell that he’s struggling to hold the illusion. So, finally, she approaches him, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into his side. 

He rubs his hand along her arm, and drops a quick kiss to the top of her head. “I still don’t like that you’re leaving.” 

“I know.” Her gaze cuts across the room to Bucky, catching his gaze. 

He quickly looks away, distractedly staring out the window, ever alert. 

“He’s taking it hard. You need to talk to him.”

Amelia turns, looking up at him. “He’s been avoiding me.” 

“You’ve been avoiding him, too. Talk to him, Amy. Don’t leave it like this.” 

She nods, leaning into him. “You’ll be there to see me off, right?” 

“Absolutely.” 

The music switches to something slow, and she grabs his hand, leading him out of the corner. He pulls her in, twirling her around a bit as he does so. “Remember the first time we danced?” 

“The press event Tony hosted? He shoved us together in front of those photographers.” 

“I was afraid that I was going to step on your toes,” he says, giving her a rueful smile. 

“You did fine. You just had to relax into it a bit.” 

“Not quite three years. Feels like forever.” 

Amelia laughs. “Thanks.” 

“That’s not--” He sighs. “You know what I meant.” 

“Yeah. I know.” She sets her head on his shoulder, and gets lost in the music. “I need you to look after him.” 

Steve chuckles. “That won’t be a problem.” 

“I know. I just--” 

“You worry.” 

“Yeah. Can’t seem to help it.” 

Steve gives her a gentle smile. “I’ll look out for him.” 

“Yourself, too. I mean it, Steve. Be careful, alright?” She’d seen him start to slip, start to lose himself in everything that had been happening, a blind recklessness that she hadn’t seen in years. Captain America was as strong as ever, but Steve Rogers was starting to crack under the strain. 

He nods, resting the side of his face against her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

He turns her around a few more times before Amelia sees Tony approach. He steps over to them, tapping Steve on the shoulder.

“I’m cutting in, Cap,” he says, just as the music changes. Steve steps back, and Tony leads her halfway across the room and starts to turn her around. “So, you’re really doing this.” 

“Tony…” 

“Nah, I get it. This is-- Well.” He shrugs. 

“The party’s great, Tony. Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing. Couldn’t let you leave without getting the gang together one last time.” 

She huffs a small laugh. “I’m not going away forever. I’ll be back.” 

“Thanksgiving. Too far away.” 

“You’ll all be out for Christmas. And you can come visit.” 

“Farms. Quiet country life. Not really my thing.” He turns, changing direction and taking her with him. “We’re still on for our weekly call.” 

“Every Monday. It’ll be okay, Tony. It’s not that far. You could fly out, set the suit on autopilot, and just enjoy the trip.” 

“That is a blatant misuse of a military-grade weapon.” 

“Last week, you flew to Florida for a cheeseburger.” 

He tries to hide a smirk behind an indignant scowl. “That was clearly a necessary and proper--- I was addressing a need in the community.” 

“A cheeseburger. With a chocolate milkshake.” 

“Well, I needed it. I’m a part of the community, so obviously--” 

“You’re ridiculous. That’s what you are.” Amelia smiles as they banter back and forth, finally teasing a small smile from his lips. 

“Probably,” Tony concedes. “I don’t want-- You’re safer here. I can’t--” 

Amelia grows solemn. “Tony, I’m going to be okay. You’ve all made sure of that. And Jarvis will alert you all at the slightest sign of trouble.”

“I know. And I’ve made a few upgrades to the interface. Nothing is getting anywhere near you; not if I can help it.”

“Thank you.” 

She looks over Tony’s shoulder as they dance, gaze seeking Bucky. It takes a moment to find him, but nearly as soon as she sees him, he’s turning away, heading for the nearest exit. She stumbles, losing the steps. Tony stops, and follows her gaze. “Go after him, kid.”

***

Bucky slips out the door while the party is in full swing. Amy and Tony are dancing, and with the emotions flitting across Amelia’s face as Tony speaks softly to her, he doesn’t want to interrupt. 

He’s nearly down the hall when the door opens and closes behind him. Soft footfalls. Amelia. He debates running, but in the end, stands still, letting her come up to him. 

She sets her hand on his metal arm. “Bucky?” 

His shoulders drop, and his voice sounds tired even to his own ears when he responds. “Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

When her voice cracks, he turns to face her, seeing the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. He lets out an unsteady breath. 

“Amelia…” He trails off. “It’s okay. It’s going to be a okay.” It wasn’t, and he could tell by her expression that she didn’t believe it any more than he did. He sighs. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere quiet, alright?” 

They end up in her apartment. He hasn’t been in here more than a few times since he moved out to the other side of the hall. They’re sitting on the couch, and she’s curled up against him like she used to, and he feels _okay_ for the first time in more than a month. 

“I was looking for a place, when you found me. Someplace quieter. Maybe a little warmer. Not nearly so far away, but I needed a change. When you showed up…” She pauses, and Bucky takes her hand. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“I think I do. When you showed up, I had a reason to stay. Wasn’t like I could move further away from Manhattan, not knowing that you’d eventually need to be closer to Steve. So, I waited, and then we both ended up moving in here, and I didn’t want to leave, not while you were still adjusting. But-- I think you’ll be okay now. And the others are here; they’ll support you. And I’m only ever a phone call away. I promise. If you ever need me, I’ll be here. But, you’re going to be okay. You have Steve, and Heather, and all of the others. So, it’s time for me to move on, I think.” 

She falls silent, and he risks a glance at her. She’s staring straight ahead, not meeting his gaze. And he doesn’t know what to say. Story of his life, that.

“I’m never going to stop needing you, doll.” He speaks tentatively, trying to find the right words. There aren’t any, so he just keeps talking. “From the very first moment. You shoulda been terrified of me. You shoulda locked the door and called Steve right away. Jesus, Amelia. You shouldn’t have ever invited me inside.” He takes a breath. “But you did. Didn’t even hesitate. Brought me in, let me into your life without hesitation. You reached out to me when no one else could. You saved me.” 

Amelia shifts until her head is resting on his shoulder. “I’m glad you picked my door to knock on. And, I don’t want this to change things more than it has to. I’m still going to come back to visit. Thanksgiving isn’t too far away.” 

He nods, throat tight. “Yeah. Bit over a month. Not long at all.” It feels like forever. 

“Yeah,” she half-heartedly agrees. “Not long at all.” 

***

She leaves on a Thursday. Tony has already shipped everything out to her new home; it’ll be waiting when they get out there. 

Amelia leaves behind her furniture, some of her clothes, and a few other things that will make it easier to visit. Almost everything she needed for the first few nights was already packed up in her new truck. All except the last small bag of supplies. 

She’s standing just inside the doorway of her apartment, looking around one last time. Tears well up, and she blinks, forcing them back. It didn’t matter if she could be back in just a few days; it wouldn’t be the same, and she knew it. This was a new beginning, sure, but every beginning grew off the ending of something else. 

In this case, it was the end of her life here at Avengers Tower. 

She chokes back a sob, and struggles to pull herself together. She’s nearly there when there’s a firm knock on her door. 

“Amelia? Are you still in here?” 

Bucky, sounding timid and unsure. She swallows hard and opens the door, her bag still over one shoulder. 

“Just getting ready to head down.” She gives him her brightest smile, and hopes he doesn’t see through it.

He reaches out, slipping the bag from her shoulders, and settling it over his own. “This is it, then.” 

“I guess so.”

 

“You can come back. If this isn’t right, come home.”

She nods, not sure she could speak without her voice cracking. 

He lets out a huff of air, and reaches out, pulling her into his arms. She folds her arms tightly around him, burying her head against the softness of his sweater. He ducks his face into her hair, and she hears him give a faint sniffle, feels a half sob rise through his chest. 

She just holds tighter. 

Eight months ago, he came to her doorway, lost and alone. Afraid of a world he didn’t understand. Scared, and so desperate for a kind face that he traveled hours through the night to find her. The uncertainty of the first few days, when, as determined as she was to help him, she was so sure she’d turn around and find that he left again. The days when he slowly opened up to her, and the days when he could barely leave his bed. He’d come so far. 

And now, he didn’t need her anymore. It was time for her to take her exit, and let him carry on with the new life he was creating. Her work was done. 

One last loose end tidied up. 

She steps back, giving him a watery smile. “Ready to do this?” 

He nods, and his smile is just as watery as hers. “Come on, doll. I’ll walk you down.” He holds out his arm, and she slips her hand through it, letting him lead her down to the garage. The whole team is gathered there, and by the time she says her goodbyes, Tony has to drive. She can’t see through the tears in her eyes. 

He doesn’t say a word as he gets them through the city traffic and out away from the highways. It’s not until they pause for lunch at a little truck stop diner that he finally turns to face her. 

“You’re still a part of us. You know that, right? Steve told me that he asked you to join up. The offer stands.” 

She nods. “I know.” 

“Okay. Are you hungry? Because I’m starving. Do you think they’re still serving pancakes?” 

Amelia cracks a begrudging smile, and follows him into the diner.

***Three Days Later***

It was bigger in person. 

Amelia parked her truck near the garage and stared up at her new home. Faded yellow paint, shutters hanging loosely, and the garden was overgrown. A shipping container is set to one side of the driveway-- all of Amelia’s belongings, already waiting for them.

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

She smiles over to Tony, winking before unbuckling and opening her door. “Come on. The realtor is probably already on her way.” 

True enough, they weren’t more than halfway to the house before a racy red sports car came rushing up the drive. The woman behind the wheel slowed as she got closer, coming to a stop a few feet away. 

Tony meets Amelia’s gaze, and all but rolls his eyes. 

“You must be Miss Cassidy! It’s great to finally meet you. Is this your husband?” 

Tony chokes. Amelia laughs. “No. No, we’re not together. 

“Oh, gosh. I am so sorry.” She holds out her hand. “Betsy Gingers.” 

“A pleasure, Miss Gingers. And this is my friend Tony.” 

“How do you do? And you can just call me Betsy, dear. So,” she says, turning to face the house, “what do you think of her?” 

Amelia follows her gaze. “She’s beautiful.” 

The realtor beams. “And she’s been waiting for someone to see that, I think.” She reaches into her purse, and hands Amelia the keys. “She’s all yours. Jake, your next door neighbor, will be over tonight to feed the animals, but he’s expecting to show you how to do it tomorrow morning. That won’t be a problem?” 

“No, I’ll be ready for him.” 

“Peachy. Well, you have my number if you need me, and there are maps and flyers for some of our local businesses in on the counter; you shouldn’t have any problems finding them. I’ll be off on my way. Welcome to Durwood Springs, Miss Cassidy.” 

Amelia watches her get into her car, and then looks down at the keyring in her hands. “Well, shall we?” 

***

As Amelia brings in her belongings, Tony starts carting in the equipment he needs. If she’s moving this far away, he’s going to do everything he can to keep her safe and sound. And that includes adding in Jarvis and ample security measures.

By the time everything is in and spread out, Amelia is done carting things in, and has taken up a place beside him, handing him tools and putting together the front door security system.

“You know, you’re making a mistake,” Tony says, glancing up from his work. 

“Am I?” Amelia asks. “Because this feels like the first right thing I’ve done in a really long time.” 

“Yeah? Right for who?” 

“Don’t.” 

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to run from this. You want to run from everything else, from everyone else, the first time you have a chance at being happy? Fine. I can’t stop you. But you don’t get to run and hide from me, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. You think I can’t see that?” 

“I’m not running from anyone. I just.. I needed out of the city. I needed something different.” 

“Yeah? Because there are a lot of nice places outside the city that are a whole lot closer than Durwood Springs, Arkansas. Did you even look, or were you so set on escaping that you just picked something as far away as you could get? I get it. Falling in love sucks. It’s scary. You think I’m not scared? Pepper terrifies me. What I feel for her-- It’s terrifying. It makes my time in the desert seem like a walk in the park. The only thing they could do is kill me. Pepper can do so much worse. I just have to trust her not to do that. Maybe that’s something you should be working on.” 

Amelia ignores him, stubbornly keeping her concentration on the processor in her hand. 

“Why are you running away, Amy?” 

She blinks hard and looks away. “He deserves to be happy.” 

Her brave, sad smile breaks his heart. He sets down the piece he was working on. “He couldn’t be happy with you?” 

“I don’t think I get all of that. Marriage, kids, picket fences… Those dreams are for other people. I’m okay on my own.” 

“No, Amy. You’re not,” he responds softly. “And the fact that you had to run 1,300 miles to prove to yourself that you are kind of makes my point.” 

“I have to be. Because there’s no version of this story where I end up getting to play happy families. You know that.” 

“I know that you’re afraid. I know that you’re not willing to trust anyone. Still. And I know that, when you come home for Thanksgiving, you’re going to destroy yourself trying to pretend that you’re fine, and I’m going to have to sit and watch it, knowing that I’m the only one who knows better.” 

She clenches her jaw. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t-- I just, I’m trying to understand, kid. A year ago, I thought you were doing better. And then you met Bucky, and things were going great. I really thought maybe that was it. Maybe you finally were going to open up a bit, let someone in. And instead…” 

“I can handle it, Tony.” 

“When’s your next appointment?” 

“Next month.” 

“Thanksgiving?” She nods. “Good. Don’t think I didn’t realize you canceled the last three.”

“Been a bit busy.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Tony--” 

“Bullshit, Amy. You don’t get to do this. If you push us away, you think it won’t matter, right? Disappear, and maybe we won’t notice? I’m not going anywhere, kid. And it doesn’t matter if you live three floors away or three thousand miles. I’m not letting you run away from us. It doesn’t work that way. Not with me.”

***

Amelia spends the first week unpacking, painting, fixing leaky sinks, and learning how to care for her small herd of three bulls. She goes out to get groceries with Tony before he leaves, making them dinner in her new home. 

When she’s not busy putting her house together, she’s practicing with her guitar. She prints off some basic tabs and gets started. With nothing else to do, she practices. Unfortunately, within the first two weeks, she breaks a string, and so the next day, she makes her way down to the local music store. 

Amelia pushes open the door and steps inside. The shop is crowded with drum sets, guitars, xylophones, and keyboards. She can see the counter from just inside the door, but there’s no one standing there, so she goes further in to look around. 

The store is L-shaped, she finds, as soon as she takes a few steps. The larger section is just around the corner, the layout interrupted by a handful of pianos, shelves of sheet music, and another row of stringed instruments hanging from the wall. There’s a harp in one corner, and a selection of school band instruments on shelves along the far wall. 

Two men are standing next to the keyboard, staring at a sheet of music. 

“You’re playing it wrong,” the one says. He’s medium height with short black hair and a friendly-looking face. 

“You can do better then?” The second asks. He has brown hair and wide shoulders, and is turned away from her. He proceeds to play the line again, and Amelia tries to hide her wince at the sour note. The man shakes his head, and turns around. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am.” He gives her a once over. “Haven’t seen you around here before. I don’t suppose you’re the young woman who bought the old Wrenner farm?” 

Amelia smiles. “That’s me.” She takes a few steps forward, and holds out her hand. “Amelia Cassidy.” 

He takes it in a firm grip. “Rhett Bennett. Welcome to town, Miss Cassidy.” 

“Amelia is fine, please.”

“Amelia, then. Was there anything I could help you with?”

“I’m actually just hoping to pick up a guitar string. But, the song you’re trying to play, would I be overstepping if I offered to take a look at it?”

“Oh, do you play? I’m not going to tell you no, but you don’t need to waste your time in here with us. We have a band, and this is something we’ve been trying to hash out for a while.”

“It’s really no bother.” She follows him back over. 

“Amelia, this here is Johnny. He’s our bassist. Johnny, meet Amelia.” 

“A pleasure, Ma’am. We appreciate your help. Rhett can’t play his way out of a paper bag.”

“Enough of that,” Rhett pipes up from behind her.

“Well,” Amelia says, smiling a bit as she sits down, “I’m certainly going to try.” She checks the cover of the sheet music, seeing it’s at least a song she recognizes, and then turns back to the original page. “Alright, where are we starting?”

Rhett points to a measure, and she glances quickly over the music before starting up. A moment later, Rhett starts singing along, and Johnny joins in the harmony. She slows down a bit during the part they struggled through, tentatively adding in the third vocal part herself. Rhett grins down at her, and gives her a thumbs up, so she sings a bit louder, her voice seamlessly matching theirs. 

The song ends, the final notes ringing through the small shop. Rhett drops a hand on her shoulder. “Not bad. You should come out some night and watch us play. I’ll get you a schedule up at the counter, if you’d like. Might be a good way to get to meet a few of the locals.” 

“That-- uh, that’d be great. Thanks. I’d like that.” 

He gives her a sharp look, and nods. “Alright, then. Let’s go get your guitar string sorted out.” She follows him to the counter, and he points to the display behind him. “You know what you’re looking for?” 

“Just need a high e. Had a bit of a mishap yesterday.” 

He nods. “Got it.” He reaches into the drawer beneath the counter, and hands a small packet over. “I tell you what. The band is playing this Thursday at the Ducking Goose, right on Main. Can’t miss it. You promise to be there, and you can have this. Free of charge.” 

Amelia takes in the teasing tilt of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. Crap. “Rhett, I do appreciate the offer, but I’m really not looking for--” 

“Whoa. Slow down there, Amy. Can I call you Amy? Look. I’m not trying to ask you out on a date here. I just thought, being new in town, you might want to come out. Meet a few people. As friends. I mean, you’re an attractive woman, don’t get me wrong, but I’m pretty good at reading people. I know when even my best efforts would be pointless.”

Her faces flushes hot red. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day, and--” 

“Hey, look at me.” She does. “You have no reason to apologize, alright? It’s fine.” He holds out his hand again. “Friends?” 

She gives him a hesitant smile, but sets her hand in his. “Friends.” Actually… 

****

Steve glances down at his phone when it beeps. Incoming message from Amy. When he opens it up, he sees a picture of her with a man, both of them smiling into the camera. “Made a friend!” follows after. He smiles dimly down at the image, and then sticks it back into his pocket. 

“What’s that?” Bucky asks. 

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” 

***

She enjoys the show, and meeting the locals, more than she thought she would. Even if she stays at a table near the back, sitting by herself until Rhett swings over between sets to say hello. He drags her to meet a few others, and she spends the second set sitting with some of his friends. And at the end of the night, she feels a little less alone in town. 

Work hasn’t changed, and as much as she loves being away from the city, waking up to an empty home every morning is hard, too. She misses not being able to walk down to Tony’s workspace whenever she wants to talk, or watch late-night movies with Steve. She misses the chaos and liveliness of dinners with the team. 

And Bucky. She misses him with an ache that she can’t ignore, no matter how badly she wants to. She keeps a picture of them together in her room, hating herself for it and still unwilling to hide it away. 

And with mixed feelings of excitement and dread, she counts down the weeks until Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. The long explanation-- 
> 
> In the end of August, I told my husband that, after years of dealing with a ton of nonsense from him (you really don't want the details), I was done. Things had been bad for a while, and I just couldn't do anymore. So, I started working more to make up the eventual loss of his income, and started waiting for him to move out. 
> 
> It took until the end of February for him to leave, four months after the date we'd agreed on. I spend those months emotionally exhausted. He was being a first-class jerk, and everything I wrote was coming out flat and tired. I had nothing left to give. So, I stopped writing. It wasn't fair to the readers, or to the story itself, to try to force it at that point, and really, my heart just wasn't in it. I didn't write anything, for Broken Chances or any of my other works (both original and fics) for months. 
> 
> Since he moved out, things have been better, in some ways, but being a single mom is hard. Dealing with an ex who has serious issues (again, I'll spare you the details) is hard. And I was still numb. Things have been challenging in ways that I didn't expect. Most days, it feels like as soon as I start to get ahead, something comes along to knock me off my feet again. 
> 
> This is turning more dramatic than I had intended. Sorry. 
> 
> Things are getting better. It feels like it's taking forever, but it's getting there. And as I adjust and get my life together again, I'm going to keep writing, hopefully a little faster and with a little more ease from here on out. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'm really learning a lot about who I am now (I lost a lot of that over the last 10 years), and I'm learning to embrace my weirdness. I'm also, with a friend, heading to NYC Comic Con this October as sort of a celebration of getting my life back. So, it's only going to get better from here. 
> 
> And that'll mean more writing, too. :)


	34. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving at the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Thank you all for the support and kind words from my personal note in the last chapter-- your thoughtfulness means more than you'll ever know.
> 
> I struggled with a few scenes in this one, but I think it turned out alright. The next chapter is 75% done, as is the one after it. I leave for Comic Con in just a few weeks (YES!!!), but I'll try to have at least one of them up before then. 
> 
> Things are about to get interesting. ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Amelia grits her teeth before stepping out of front door of the medical office. It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and the streets are full of holiday visitors, all preparing for the next day’s parade. She got into Manhattan three hours ago, just in time to park at the Tower, drop her stuff off in her apartment (the team is out rescuing a handful of foreign dignitaries from a twenty foot robot posing as a giant inflatable turkey), and hail a cab to her appointment. 

Now, she’s biting the inside of her lip to keep from limping, and controlling her breathing to keep from crying. And she doesn’t even want to be here anymore. She wants to be back in Arkansas, where she can deal with all of this in peace. 

She’s walking across the sidewalk to catch a cab back to the Tower when she hears a sharp whistle. She turns, not entirely surprised to see Tony standing a dozen feet away, leaning up against a red sports car. 

“Hey, kid. Need a ride?” 

She grins, pain momentarily forgotten as he walks up and she throws her arms around him. 

“Missed you too, Amy. Let’s get you home, alright?” 

She nods, and Tony sets his hand on her back, leading her to the car and pulling out into traffic before he turns to glance at her. 

“So, what’d he say?”

“You mean after the hour of torture and half dozen scans? Nothing good. But I’ll be alright for a while yet.”

Tony glances at her. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll get there.” 

“You know I’ve got your back, right? I’ll figure this out.” 

Amelia turns and gives him an unsteady smile. “I know. Thanks, Tony. So, what have I missed?”

“Not much. Saving the world.” 

“How’d things go with the turkey?”

“We’re all good. Cap had a near miss with its claws, but Bruce got him bandaged up. He’ll be halfway healed before they make it back, which should be just after we get in.” 

She nods, and rests her head back against the seat. 

It’s been awhile since she’s talked to some of the team. Her and Tony are in constant contact, and she talks to Steve two or three times a week. Bucky has texted her a few times, and there was the one video chat. The others have texted her here or there (and Clint more than a few times), but she’s missed them. 

As soon as they return to the Tower, Amelia slips off to shower and change from her trip. By the time she gets out and up to the community floor, the others are waiting for her. 

“Hey, guys,” she says softly, giving a weak wave as she steps off of the elevator. “Happy Thanksgiving.” 

“Hey, Amy. Welcome home,” Steve says, coming over and settling an arm around her shoulders. There’s a dark bruise over one eye, and an already-healing cut along his opposite cheek, but he still moves quickly enough that she almost doesn’t notice Bucky sitting on the loveseat, Heather pressed close to his side, leaning into him. Heather is turned towards him, one hand on his cheek while the other inspects a scrape on his forehead. 

Bucky looks past her, his gaze meeting Amelia’s, before Heather claims his attention again. Steve puts himself between Amelia and Bucky, blocking her view, but his thumb moves reassuringly against her shoulder. 

Seeing Heather is an unpleasant shock, but not one she was entirely unprepared for. Tony said she would be here for Thanksgiving, and it really only made sense that she’d be around after a mission, too. No doubt worried that her boyfriend made it home safely. She doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, though. Steve guides her to a couch (and what’s with that, all of the sudden?), and the others sit nearby, scattered around on couches and chairs. 

Steve winces a bit as he moves, and she can see a hint of bandages peeking out from below his shirt. He catches her looking, and gives her a small smile and shrugs. “Looks worse than it is,” he tells her. “I can barely feel it.” 

“Tony told me what happened. You need to be careful, alright?” 

He pulls her in, tucking her against his side, even though she’s careful to not press too tightly against him. He seems to relax a bit with her so close. There’s more tension in his shoulders than there used to be, and it worries her.

As they all catch up, the conversation eventually turns to her life in Arkansas, and, more specifically, what she was doing out there to keep herself occupied. 

And then, Steve asks about Rhett.  
“He owns the local music store,” Amelia explains. “I met him after I had a string snap. He’s also in a band that plays locally. I’ve gone to some of their shows, and have hung out with the band a bit. And I’ve gone to a barbeque or two at his place.”

***

Bucky doesn’t consider himself a jealous man. He’s never seen the point. Either a dame was into him or she wasn’t, and if she wasn’t, he didn’t see the point in chasing after her. 

But when Amelia mentions Rhett, her new musician friend, he feels every muscle in his body go tense. 

It’s not helping that Heather, who is touchy-feely most days, seems to have upped the game since Amelia came home, practically never taking her hands off of him. Or that Steve hasn’t left Amelia’s side for more than three minutes since she arrived. The man seemed determined to distract her from Bucky by pulling the others into conversations, engaging Amelia’s attention nearly every second. 

Not that she hasn’t glanced back at him a few times. Not that he hasn’t tried to make eye contact every time he manages to divert Heather’s attention for more than a moment or two. 

After dinner, Steve invites Amelia back to their apartment to watch movies. Bucky quickly invites himself, and Heather by default, and they end up on the loveseat while Amelia and Steve settle on the couch. 

JARVIS cues up a newly-released comedy, something about two cops. Heather curls up into his side, and he sets his arm over her. One of her arms come around him, curling up near his neck, not straying too close to his prosthetic. He catches Amelia’s glance, and sees the way her eyes take in Heather’s position before looking away. 

He feels shame burn brightly up his neck, and he doesn’t understand why. It’s not his fault that Heather still isn’t comfortable with that part of him. Lord knows, she has good reason for her disquiet. The things that arm has done… 

Heather shifts, tugging him down for a deep kiss, one that he breaks off after a moment. He knows what she’s doing, knows she’s always had a problem where Amelia is concerned. 

Steve laughs at some antic on the screen, his hand coming to rest on Amy’s shoulder. “Did I ever tell you about the time Dumdum bet Bucky that he could outwit some guys from another regiment?”

Bucky chuckles, knowing where this is going. “Jarvis, pause the movie, please.” 

“You wanna tell the story, Buck?” Steve asks, humor crinkling the skin around his eyes. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your fun, punk.” 

Steve grins. “So, there we were, stuck in an abandoned farmhouse about forty miles outside of Tours, France. It’s been raining for a week straight, and when it isn’t raining, it’s snowing. The whole regiment is miserable. The Howlies are miserable. And no one is going anywhere until the weather turns.

“We’ve been given the attic, and it’s drippy and cold, but from one of the windows, we could see the barn. I’m going over some plans, so I’m not paying any attention. All I know is Bucky and Dugan are getting into a heated debate about something or another.” 

“The next thing I know, Dugan is heading down the stairs, the other men following him. Now, I’m interested. Bucky stops me, tells me to let this play out.” 

“No way was I going to let you put an end to it.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “The Howlies had been involved in a bit of a friendly tussle back and forth with some of the other soldiers. The soldiers that, at that time, were sleeping in the barn. When the Howlies came back to the attic an hour later, half soaked but whispering excitedly amongst themselves. I just ignored it. Then the next day, things got interesting. It started at breakfast, where Jacques mentioned that he saw some weird lights floating about near the barn the night before. Dugan mentioned that some local town people had said there were some weird stories associated with the place. By this time, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on, but I stayed quiet.”

Amelia is watching Steve with interest, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. Every few seconds, her gaze shifts to Bucky, meeting his eyes with barely-contained mirth. 

“That night, once we all retired, I watched Dugan and the others slip back out. Bucky and I waited a few minutes, and then go after them, positioning ourselves to see what’s going to happen in the barn. Well, the men had found some old fishing line, and rigged the place up like a carnival madhouse. They climbed a tree up to one of the windows, and could pull this string or that to get things moving and flying about.” 

“We were a lot more superstitious back then,” Bucky adds in, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes meeting Amelia’s as he expands the story. “During a war, you have to be. Anything that might tip the odds in your favor. So spirits and anything from the underworld was a very real fear.” 

Steve barks a laugh. “Those men came running out of the barn, hightailing it for the house. Jacques led the Howlies in and they ducked down behind a half-wall near the supply room. A few minutes later, they reappeared, each carrying a bottle or two of wine. I guess it was a common thing in France, hiding a wine cellar under the barn. They quickly hid any evidence of their prank, and then slipped back in the back entrance to the house, none of the other regiment being the wiser.” 

“Did they at least share?” Amelia asks, laughing. 

“I got a bottle,” Bucky confesses. “Steve wasn’t drinking at that point. Told the men that they might as well enjoy it.” 

Steve shrugs, and leans back again. “You know, I haven’t thought about that week in years. The weather cleared up the next day, and the day after that, we were on the move to Paris.” 

“Through the mud.” 

“At least it wasn’t still snowing.” Steve shivers, remembering the chill in his bones that never quite went away. Spending four months in the cold mountain air made him homesick for his drafty Brooklyn apartment.

They finish the movie, and Heather yawns, stretching wide. Bucky follows her into the bedroom, laying down beside her, her arm around her waist. “This is nice,” she mumbles sleepily, scooting back further against him. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. And it was. Felt good, not being alone in his bed, feeling the warmth of another person pressed up alongside him. 

“Thank you for letting me stay here tonight, and for inviting me to have Thanksgiving with your friends. You don’t know how much this means to me, Bucky. Truly.” 

He smiles into her hair, and presses a kiss to her skin. “I’m glad you’ll be here. Get some sleep, alright?” 

She hums and closes her eyes. Finally, he hears the steady sound of Heather’s breathing as it evens out in sleep. She’s out. Bucky slips silently from his bed and makes his way out to the living room where Amelia and Steve are still watching a movie, feeling like the worst kind of person for leaving Heather alone in his bed to do so. 

“Room for one more?” he asks, rubbing self-consciously at his metal arm. 

“Thought you were sleeping?” Amelia asks, sliding over to make room for him. 

“Not quite yet.” He slips into the space beside Amelia, ignoring Steve’s pointed look. She keeps her distance, maintaining three or four inches between their bodies, but it’s still closer than he’s been in over a month. “So, how’s the wild west?” 

Amelia laughs. “Arkansas is good. Peaceful. I’m even planning out a garden for next year. There are some neighbor kids who are offering to help. It’s going to be an adventure. They’re very keen, and the list things they want to grow gets more adventurous by the week.”

“Sounds great, doll.” He pauses. “It’s been quiet around here without you.” 

“Yeah?” Her voice is soft and a little sad. Steve reaches around behind her, flicking his ear before settling his arm over Amelia’s shoulders. Bucky turns, and Steve gives him a hard look. 

“The other side of the hallway has been awfully quiet, Amy. After having you here for so long, it’s taken a bit of getting used to,” Steve adds. “But we’re all really glad you’re doing so well.” 

“Hmm.” Bucky watches her hand twitch towards him, but she pulls it back, and sets her head on Steve’s shoulder instead. 

He wishes she’d reached out. Wishes he was brave enough to bridge the distance when she didn’t. 

***

Amelia feels her heart clench painfully when Bucky comes out and sits down beside her. She wants to lean into him. The past couple days have been rough. The long car drive alone, and then her disappointing appointment with her specialist… She still hasn’t told Tony the details; could barely face them herself. All she wanted was to throw herself into Bucky’s arms, let his strong arms keep her safe for a little while. Just make her spinning mind go still. 

Except it’s Steve who pulls her closer in, as if sensing her distress. Steve, who thinks she can’t see the looks he’s giving Bucky over her head. Steve, who has bordered on overprotective since she stepped off the elevator. 

And it’s kind of killing her. She loves being here with him, but all she wants is to disappear back to her own apartment and try to deal with everything. Just collapse into her bed and let it all hit her. Deal with it so tomorrow could be a better day. 

As much as she hates to admit it, and as much as she loves everyone here at the Tower, this doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels chaotic and emotional and constricting. And she’s missed them, but she really just wants to go home. 

The movie ends, and she grabs her empty popcorn bowl. “I should probably get going. I’m on turkey duty tomorrow.” 

“Want some help?” Steve asks. “I’ll be up for my run, anyhow.” 

“Nope, I’ve got it. All I have to do is get them seasoned and into the ovens. That won’t take too long. Thanks, though.” 

“Well, I might still stop in to keep you company, if that’s alright. I should probably get a head start on my pies, too, while I’m there.” 

“Sounds good,” she says with a smile. She takes care of her dish, and wishes them a good night before escaping to her own apartment. After the long day, it takes only a few minutes to fall asleep.

***

“So, you and Amelia….?” Bucky begins, as soon as he hears her apartment door close. 

Steve looks at him. “Me and Amelia...what?” 

“You two seem awfully cozy all of the sudden.” 

Ah. So, that’s where this is going. Steve frowns at his friend. “I don’t think it’s your place to say anything at all about Amelia and me. You didn’t even get up to greet her when she showed up.”

“Heather was--” He stops, and looks down. “Yeah, I know. I’m screwing this up, Steve. The last thing I want to do is lose her friendship, but I can’t seem to figure this out. I try to get close to her, and Heather gets upset. I try to keep my space, and Heather’s happy, but I-- I miss her.”

“Maybe you should tell her that, then.” Steve can’t quite help the edge to his voice. 

“Ain’t gonna change nothin’.”

“Whatever you say, pal.” He saw this coming. Steve was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a fool. And if Bucky was really happy with Heather, then he wouldn’t see the conflict in his friend’s gaze every time Bucky looked at Amy. And he couldn’t change Bucky’s mind on any of this. So he let it go, acknowledging that he couldn’t do anything there. But he also wasn’t going to stand by and let Amy get hurt. At least, not more than she probably already was. 

He couldn’t protect her, but he could stand beside her and do his best to keep her from feeling alone. 

Bucky shakes his head and stands up. “I’m heading back to bed.” 

“Sure.” 

\---

Bucky escapes to his room, but can’t quite make himself slip into bed beside Heather. Instead, he sits in the armchair, head dropped into his hands. When did this become such a mess? It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Heather--he did. Deeply. But seeing Amelia, he couldn’t escape all of the “what if’s” that he’d tried so hard to leave behind him. It was like staring down two realities--a nice, comfortable future with Heather, where she never asked too much of him, and never pushed him too hard, or a lifetime with someone who challenged him, who made him want to be the best version of himself, but who was also his partner in every sense. Standing at his side, accepting every part of him, even when he didn’t deserve it. It’d be so easy with Heather, and he could be so happy. 

But there was always going to be the sense that something was missing.

After a while, he hears Steve get up and head to his own room. He still walks intentionally louder when Bucky’s around, closes the doors a bit louder than he has to. Bucky waits until he settles, and then silently slips out of his room, and then out of the apartment. He pauses outside Amelia’s door, wanting nothing more than to knock, or maybe even try the knob, see if it’s still open to him. 

He shakes his head, and heads towards the elevator. Five minutes later, he’s on his bike, heading towards Brooklyn. He hasn’t been in months, but tonight, he needs the chance to breathe and remember...something. Who he is, maybe. He hasn’t always been a soldier, a weapon, an Avenger… Somewhere under all of that, there was a man just trying to figure his life out. 

And right now, he just wants to go home. 

The smell of the water surrounds him as he goes over the bridge, and for just a second, he closes his eyes and takes it in. It’s different from when he was a kid in Brooklyn. Cleaner and dirtier all at the same time. 

It’s a fifteen minute drive on nearly-empty streets to get from the bridge to the neighborhood he grew up in. He pauses briefly outside his old home, and then turns left, two blocks, and then a right turn to the park. It used to be twice as big; the old baseball diamond is now a convenience store. There’s a tall fence around the park, and a locked gate. 

Scaling it takes moments. 

He sits down on an old park bench; there’s graffiti sprayed on the back of it. He can spot a couple used needles kicked under a nearby bush. Jesus. This used to be a place for kids, like him and Stevie, to play. The greatest danger was bullies. And now, the place was about as uninviting as some of the trenches he’d spent time in. 

Two minutes later, he’s scaling the fence again (and really, he’s getting too old for this nonsense), and walking over to the convenience store. He grabs some supplies and a Slushie, and then heads back to the park. 

By the time the sun starts to rise, there are three full garbage bags, a bunch of weeds pulled from the flower gardens, and one tired old soldier, waiting just inside the gate when someone comes along to open the gate. He nods at the city worker before hauling the bags to the dumpster across the street. 

He needs a shower, probably something to eat, but he feels more at peace than he has in months. 

***

Amelia slips out of her room sometime before dawn. Steve’s up; she can hear him getting ready for his run in the other apartment as she went past. Bucky was probably still in bed with Heather. 

She forces out a breath, and puts the thought from her mind. 

The largest of the communal kitchens is on the same floor as the community lounge. Amelia pulls the turkeys from one fridge, spending an easy 45 minutes getting them into the first few ovens. After cleaning up, she grabs bread dough, rising since the night before, and starts shaping it into rolls, getting lost in the repetitive motions. Soft music is playing over the speakers, and even if she hasn’t changed out of her pajamas (or do much more than toss her hair into a sloppy bun and brush her teeth), she’s comfortable and starting to feel more at ease. The silence helps, as does the familiar movements of preparing Thanksgiving dinner for the team and associates. 

It’s nearly 7:30 when Steve wanders in, sweaty from his run. “Is Bucky up here?” 

Amelia shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him since last night.” 

“He’s not in his room. Heather says she doesn’t remember him getting into bed last night at all, and his phone is sitting on the nightstand.” 

“JARVIS?” 

“Sergeant Barnes left the tower at 1:30 this morning, leaving out the south exit on his motorcycle. He has not returned.”

“Probably just couldn’t sleep,” Amelia says, but she’s worried. 

“Yeah.” She hears the concern in his voice, too. 

“Why don’t you go shower, and maybe he’ll be back by the time you're out, yeah?” 

Steve hesitates, and then nods, heading off to his apartment. Amelia turns her attention back to Thanksgiving dinner, knowing that standing still and fretting wouldn’t bring him home any faster. It sounded like he left of his own free will. He’d be back. 

And if not, well--

She pushes the thought from her mind, and finishes the last of the breads. Then she puts together the mulled cider and gets that going in a slow cooker. From there, she moves on to the whipped cream and crushed ginger cookies for one of Steve’s pies--anything to keep her hands moving and her mind occupied. 

It feels like an hour, but it’s only twenty minutes later when Jarvis’s voice comes over the speakers.“Sergeant Barnes has just returned to the tower.” 

Amelia let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, J. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Amelia.” 

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before the others started walking in, she checked on the turkeys again and got started on the next step. 

Steve was the first in, his favorite cookbook in hand. “Bucky’s back.” 

“I heard. Any idea what he was up to?” 

“None. He won’t say.” 

“Hmm.” Curious. She wouldn’t bug him, but she’s definitely a bit worried. 

Her and Steve work side by side, him on his pies and her on peeling potatoes, a dance they’ve perfected over the last couple of years.

It doesn’t take much more than a half hour before Bucky comes in, Heather following close behind. He looks...tired. Tired, but settled, like some of the demons he’s been dodging have been set aside, at least for the moment. 

“Morning.” He gives a small, sleepy smile. 

“Morning. Coffee’s brewing.” 

He moans in relief. “You’re a saint.” 

He grabs one of the larger mugs, Heather still hovering close to his elbow. 

“The mulled cider will be ready before the parade.” There were also cider donuts, flown in that morning from some little cider mill upstate, sitting in a cupboard, waiting to be pulled out. 

She glances at the clock. It’s going on 9:00 AM. The coverage of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade would be starting soon. It was time to finish up the potatoes and put them aside to soak. As if reading her mind, Clint comes over, grabbing a knife and starting to peel. Once Nat joins in, the potatoes are done within a few minutes. Just in time. 

\---

Clint sets down his knife and then lifts the heavy pot, full of potatoes and water, over to the stove to sit until it’s needed. Just in time. 

“The parade’s starting!” Steve calls from the next room. The team all crowds onto the couches. The donuts and the bowl of cider are already out on the table, waiting for them. The scent of the mulled cider, combined with the turkeys cooking in the next room, make the whole room smell festive and welcoming.

Clint sits down beside Nat, grabbing a donut as he gets comfortable. Didn’t matter how old he was; this was always his favorite part of Thanksgiving. He’s been watching it since he was a kid, sat on the old carpet in his living room, staring at the little screen perched on top of the stand. Barney, his brother, would be sitting beside him, munching on the olives he’d slipped off of the tray out in the kitchen. 

His dad was passed out drunk on the couch again, but it’s amazing what you can adjust to as a child.

Of course, a year later, it all went to shit. Drunk driving accident. His dad’s fault. Clint and Barney become orphans, moved from one crappy foster home to another, and an orphanage, when no one else could be talked into taking the sullen, angry young boys, but at least they were away from the old man’s angry fists and their mom’s emotional indifference. 

Before he ended up with the Avengers, it’d been a long time since he’d felt at home anywhere, at least anywhere that didn’t require him to have a bow in his hands. Nat was his first break from that life. And now, here he was. Surrounded by a new family, full of disfunction and crazy, like any good family. But these people? They had his back, and he had theirs. And that was what family was all about. 

Amelia hovers near the doorway, watching over her flock, as Clint has come to think of them, a small smile on her face. Their eyes meet, and he lifts his mug of cider in silent salute. She huffs a laugh and goes back to the kitchen. 

\---

Amelia shakes the empty poultry seasoning bottle in exasperation, finally tossing it into the recycling bin before heading down the hallway towards the closet. Still not finding the spice she needs, she calls out to the guys that she’d be right back, and went down to her own apartment. There should be a nearly-full container sitting in her cupboard. She’s nearly to the door of the communal room when Heather catches up with her. 

“Mind if I walk down with you?” 

Amelia is instantly on guard, but gives a weak smile and agrees. They walk down the hallway in silence, and it’s not until the elevator that Heather turns to speak. 

“I love him.” 

Amelia tenses, and glances towards the blonde. What the heck is she supposed to say to that? Fortunately, Heather was quick to continue. 

“I love him, and I’m terrified that he still loves you.” 

“He never--” 

“He did. Does, I think. But me, I don’t deserve someone like him, but I want to. And if you’re here, I don’t stand a chance. He looks at you and it’s like---” She cuts off with a shake of her head. “It’s not like he looks at me.” 

Amelia looks over to her. “I-- I don’t understand what this has to do with me being here. Bucky and I have never had that kind of relationship.” It’s a small lie, and it hurts to say it, but truthfully? She has no idea how she’s supposed to respond to any of this. Did Heather think Bucky was with her last night? Or that he’d sat beside her on the couch? And why should she feel guilty? They were friends. That’s all they could ever be. 

Amelia had made sure of that, destroying her own heart in the process. 

“I know that I’m a bit clingy, possessive maybe. But Bucky isn’t the kind of guy that comes along every day. I don’t want to lose that.” 

“Heather--”

“I don’t hate you. I know what the others think of me, alright? And you-- you’re perfect. One of the team. When I saw you and Bucky running that mission, you belong here, with them. It broke their hearts when you left. But with you out of the picture-- it felt like I finally had a chance here. And I don’t want to lose that.” 

The elevator dings, and Amelia leads the way out, feeling vaguely uneasy. “So, you want me to keep my distance?” 

“I feel awful even suggesting it. But, at least with Bucky-- Maybe if you could put some space between you. I can’t lose him, Amy.” 

“I’ll.. um. I’ll see what I can do.” 

The other woman smiles. “Thank you. You know, in spite of everything, I bet we could be good friends. I’m not that unlikeable, I promise.” 

Amelia forces a small smile in response. “I’d like that.” It’s pretty much the last thing she wants, but she tells herself that she’s doing it for Bucky. He cares for Heather, and she won’t get in the way of his happiness. 

She grabs the spices she needs, and they head back up. Steve gives her a piercing once-over as they walk in, not even bothering to conceal his concern. Pasting on her best “I’m fine” expression, she goes back to the kitchen and gets back to work on Thanksgiving. 

Steve looks like he’s going to follow her until Tony steps in, distracting the other man. Amelia fights a sigh of relief and makes her way into the kitchen.

\---

Clint glances at his watch. 11:30. Santa Claus, in his big red sleigh, Mrs. Claus by his side, was the traditional end to the parade, and the official start, in Clint’s mind, of the Christmas holiday. Even after all of these years, seeing the sleigh start down fifth avenue left his chest feeling tight and his eyes burning just a bit. He takes a shaky breath and lets it out, hoping no one else notices. 

\---

Just after 1:00 PM, Amelia puts the finishing touches on everything, and everyone grabs a sidedish and goes to sit down. Steve and Bucky walk in carrying the turkeys on trays, setting them down in the middle of the table. Tony stood nearby, carving knife and fork in his hands, waiting to start slicing up the birds as soon as the other two men took their seat. Carving was always Tony’s job; had been since the first Thanksgiving there at the Tower.

Amelia sits at the end of the table closest to Tony, with Steve across from here and Clint at her side. Bucky, with Heather beside him, sat next to Steve. The rest of the team fills out the remaining seats, with Pepper at the end, opposite Tony. As Amelia looks around the table, she’s struck by how their small group has grown and changed over the years, from just her, Tony, Pepper, and Happy, to this large and crazy family they’d built. 

Everyone holds hands, and Steve says grace, even those of them who don’t follow any religion bow their heads, counting the things they’re most grateful for. And then, dishes are passed around and plates are filled. Conversation and laughter flows around the table. 

And after the dishes are cleaned up and the pie is cut, everyone retires to the living room. JARVIS queues up A Nightmare Before Christmas. Amelia watches Bucky and Heather sit down on one of the loveseats, so she takes a single chair on the other side of the seating area. Steve sits down on the couch closest to her seat. 

Watching Bucky enjoy his first viewing of the movie reminded her of Steve’s first time watching it, but for Steve, who had never been introduced to Tim Burton or that style of cinematography, or that kind of a story, it was a rollercoaster of bemused horror and childish glee. 

Bucky is much more reserved, but Amelia catches his eyes crinkling in mirth, or the way his brows draw down in concern when Dr. Finkelstein drags Sally back to the mansion. Or the hint of sadness when Jack is wandering the cemetery alone. 

Heather glances towards her, and she quickly looks away. 

When the movie ends, she excuses herself, and returns to her room alone.

\----

The end of her visit comes too soon, and before she knew it, it was Saturday morning, time to start the long drive home. Amelia sets her bag down as she waits for the elevator. The elevator dings and opens just as the door behind her swings open. Bucky rushes up, shoving his hand out to block the elevator door from closing. 

“Mind if I follow you down?” 

She glances behind him. Bucky shrugs. “She’s gone home.” 

“I see.” Heather’s words echo in her ears, and she puts herself a half foot further away from him. His eyes track her movement. 

“I’m sorry,” he forces out.

She glances over, seeing the tightness in his shoulders, and the pensive look on his face. “Bucky--” 

“This-- it wasn’t the way I wanted this to go. I never meant to make you uncomfortable around me.” 

Amelia felt her heart drop. “You- You didn’t. I’m not. I-- I’m trying to be fair to Heather. And to you. You deserve to be happy, Bucky. I don’t want to risk getting in the way of that.” 

He meets her gaze, and she can see the emotion swirling in his eyes. She reaches out, stepping forward as her hand slips into his. “I miss you. And I miss being here. But me not staying wasn’t about you, and the past few days, I wasn’t-- that wasn’t about you, either. I’m not uncomfortable around you. Promise.” 

He nods, and she leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath her lips. And her heart is breaking all over again, but she pushes it aside and pastes on a brave smile, stepping away as the elevator door opens.

Tony is waiting there, wearing jeans and oil-stained tshirt. Bucky grabs her bag, and they walk towards her truck. 

“You’re booked for a suite just outside of Knoxville,” Tony tells her. “Directions are programmed in. Call me when you get there.” 

Amelia hugs her friend tightly. “I’ll miss you too, Tony. But it’s only until Christmas. Not quite a month. And then I’ll come back here for New Years. It’ll fly by.” 

Tony nods. “Yeah. See you soon, kid.” 

An hour later _(thanks, post-holiday traffic...)_ , she watches the New York skyline fade behind her, pushing just past the speed limit in a rush to get back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're all looking for more Bucky goodness to read, head on over to check out OrchidLurver's [Not Done Yet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7837720/chapters/17893222). I think you'll all enjoy it. (Also, she is my partner-in-crime for Comic Con. Watch out, Manhattan!)


	35. Blame it On the Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Merry Christmas with the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. _Guys._
> 
> I leave for Comic Con in three days-ish. I wanted to get this up before then. It took a while to write this, but only because I had to get this chapter ready, and then also have the chapter after almost completely ready to go before I even thought about posting. You'll understand why in a bit. (Hey, I'm sometimes a slow poster, but I try really hard to not be mean.)
> 
> Before you start reading, there are a few things you should know... 
> 
> 1) I have a playlist for this chapter and the next. If you see me mention a song (there are a few of them in this chapter), this is where you can find it. It also has some songs that relate to the plot, and a few I threw in just for mood music. You can find it on my Tumblr: [AmethystFlame.Tumblr.com](http://amethystflame.tumblr.com/post/165915350983/broken-chances-the-playlist-the-new-chapter-of). 
> 
> 2) This chapter ends with a bit of a cliffhanger (sorry). The next chapter will be up on Wednesday. I'll be posting the first part of it on my Tumblr on Monday (so if you aren't already following me, this might not be a bad time to go check it out). 
> 
> 3) While in NY, the lovely OrchidLurver and I will be checking out some sites featured in Broken Chances, like the park near Brooklyn Bridge where Steve, Bucky, and Amelia spent an afternoon earlier in this fic. There will be pictures. Also, pictures from Comic Con. They'll be on Tumblr. 
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading, and for your comments. I love to hear what you think; your comments always make my day a whole lot better. You're all the best.

The flight was uneventful, barring a spat between Clint and Tony, but Bucky’s glad to be back on solid ground. Amelia lives forty miles from the airport, outside a small town in the middle of the mountains, so once Tony’s jet lands, they climb into the waiting rented cars, dividing up into two different vehicles. Bucky sits with Heather in the back seat of a Jeep Compass, Heather at his side. Steve drives, with Bruce sitting beside him. Sam is spending the holidays in Atlanta with his family, but the rest of the team is all here. The drive is mostly silent, outside of the occasional comment when someone sees something of interest alongside the road.

“I can’t imagine living all the way out here,” Heather comments at one point. “Amy must be so bored.” 

Bucky watches as a couple of deer dart away from the side of the road, going deeper into the trees. He’s a Brooklyn boy, born and bred. The only time he ever left the city was to go to war, and even though he’d seen a lot of the European countryside (and then the rest of the world, later, as the Winter Soldier), he’d never been able to really appreciate it. Beauty was harder to notice when there was a constant threat of death. 

The mountains, streams, wildlife...all of it was peaceful and quiet in a way that he didn’t often get to appreciate.

They pull up a long driveway and over a small hill, her home coming into view at the top. It had a wrap-around porch, trees in the front yard, and her truck parked out in front of the house. She’s waiting on the porch swing, and stands up as they pull up to the house, waving in greeting.

Amelia’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, with a dark tan jacket over it. Her hair is pulled back away from her face. She looks healthy. Happy. 

Beautiful. 

The thought catches him unaware, but it shouldn’t. His feelings for her haven’t changed at all, and when Heather slides out of the car before him, he feels guilty. She waits for him, and takes his hand as they start to walk forward, his real hand. She still barely touches the metal one. He understands, though. He’d just as soon not touch it, either. 

Steve is the first to reach her, sweeping her up in a crushing hug. Bucky forgets, sometimes, that Steve knew her first. He makes his way up to her, and she looks up. Her eyes light up and a smile quirks along her lips. Bucky feels Heather tense at his side; Amelia must have noticed it too, because the smile falls from her lips and she is much more subdued when she reaches them. 

“Your hair is shorter,” she says. The small twitch in her arm means that she is fighting the impulse to touch it. 

He shrugs. “It was time for a change. You look great. All of this fresh air becomes you.” 

She smiles somewhat awkwardly, and turns to Heather. “I’m so glad you could join us. The plane ride out wasn’t too unpleasant?” 

Heather chuckles, some of the tension leaving her body. “It had its moments. Your home is beautiful.” 

 

“Thank you. I hope you all enjoy it here. Why don’t we all go in?” 

Tony, Pepper, Steve, and Bruce are all staying at the home, so they go up to settle in. The rest of the team make their way to the living room. Amelia already has drinks and snacks set out. 

There are only a few days until Christmas, but other than a few small trinkets, her home is entirely devoid of any holiday decoration. She catches him looking around and shrugs. “I thought we could do it all together. More fun as a team.” 

“That sounds perfect, doll,” he tells her. It’s his first Christmas in decades, and the thought of getting to be a part of all of the festivities, even decorating the tree, leaves him feeling almost giddy.

“I know the perfect place to get a tree. If we go out this afternoon, we can decorate tonight.” 

“Brilliant,” Tony says, coming back down from the upstairs. “I brought along some new micro-robots. They can hang lights while we drink eggnog.” 

Amelia glances over at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Or, we could do it ourselves,” he mumbles. “Are you sure we can’t use the robots for--” 

“No,” Bruce says, walking down behind them. “And I told you to leave them back in New York.”

Tony shrugs, and makes his way past Amy to the living room. Bruce gives her an apologetic smile as he follows after the other man. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bucky asks, rubbing at his arm. 

“Nope. Go ahead and relax for a bit. Explore, if you’d like. I already have the decorations set out in the office. We just need to bring them into the living room, but that can wait until later.”

He nods, and wanders off to explore the rest of the house. He knows that the place is safe--Tony and the others would have never let her move out here otherwise--but going through every room makes him feel better. 

The home is big, three stories plus a basement. Three of the spare rooms are made up into bedrooms. There’s a large office on the main floor, not too different from the one Amelia has in her apartment at the tower. 

He finds her bedroom on the second floor, with windows overlooking the driveway. The decor is soft and rustic. Comfortable. There’s an armchair next to one of the windows, a pile of books sitting on the stand beside it, and a thick throw draped over the back. 

Her guitar is in the corner, a music stand next to it, along with a small crate of various accessories. She’s still playing, then. The thought of her sitting up here, practicing on her dad’s old guitar, puts a smile on his face. 

He leaves her room, not wanting to invade her privacy, and continues on his exploration of her home.

***

They leave to get the tree right after lunch. The others climb into the two rentals, leaving Steve to ride out with her in the truck. He climbs beside her, setting the ax down at his feet. Amelia started to pull out of the drive, turning left at the end and heading towards the tree farm. 

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” he says. “The Barnes’ invited mom and I to go with them to get their tree. I spent a month picking up extra hours here or there at the shop I was working to surprise my mother with one, too.” He pauses, going quiet. “That was the winter she caught TB. After that, never seemed worth it, doing it just for myself.” Amelia glances over at him, and he turns to look at her, eyes dark with emotions and old memories. “Thanks for waiting until we got here for this.” 

“Wouldn’t have been the same without you guys,” she replies, lightly setting her hand over his. “I’m glad you all made it out.” 

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he answers, before turning on the radio, adjusting it until Frank Sinatra came through the speakers, singing an old Christmas carol. Steve smiles, and leans back, watching the scenery go past the window. 

The two SUVs follow close behind, pulling up next to the truck when she finally pulls over, about ten miles from the farm. There are a few dozen trees lined up around a small building, and a few other groups paying for their trees.  
“The wagon should be back in a few minutes,” one of the workers explain, walking over. “In the meantime, there’s hot chocolate and coffee in the shed. They’re selling wreaths and stuff in there too, this year. Feel free to look around.”

Amelia thanks him, and they all wander over to the shed to browse and grab a drink. Steve picks out a few decorations and pays for them, loading them into one of the SUVs before going back in to wait with the others.

***

Bucky hears the wagon before it pulls in, and he goes outside the shack to watch, hot chocolate keeping him warm despite the chill in the air. The wagon uses hay bales for seats, and is pulled behind a large red tractor. A smaller trailer is attached to the back of the wagon, laden with a dozen freshly-cut pine trees. 

The scent of the pines hit his nose, and he spends a few seconds lost in a memory, caught between holiday traditions and the acidic smell of pine sap after a spray of bullets his a tree, only coming back to himself when Heather touches his arm. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, taking her hand as they head for the wagon. The others are already starting to climb up in. Bucky gets into line behind Steve, who flashes him an understanding look. 

Bucky shrugs it off.

A few moments after everyone has their seats, the tractor starts up again, and with a lurch, they start moving forward.

The scent of pine is gradually replaced with the gentle musk of the hay. The air has a sharp chill; there’s colder weather coming. He’ll never enjoy the cold again, not really. But he doesn’t think that he used to enjoy it before, either. Cold weather meant pneumonia or worse for Steve. His near-annual fight against death. 

A winter chill isn’t strong enough to take Stevie out anymore, but now Bucky has new reasons to hate the cold. 

They’re trudging up through rows of trees when the first snowflake hits his coat. He glances up, seeing the flurries starting to fall. Heather squeezes his hand, giving him an excited grin. Steve is staring up, too, mouth split wide into a smile.

“Just in time to get a tree!” he calls out. 

Clint huffs a laugh beside him. Natasha even smiles a bit. 

Amelia turns around, spinning in a slow circle to take in the falling flakes, eyes lit up in excitement. A few snowflakes land in her hair and along her cheeks. She laughs and lets them melt, not bothering to brush them off as she starts talking excitedly to Steve about the chances of a big storm heading their way. 

_Great._

But he has to admit, here with her, seeing her so excited and seeing the others share in that excitement, is kind of growing on him. Besides, snow is prettier out here, he bets, a hundred miles away from the biggest city. Less gray sludge, more peaceful fields of white. 

He takes another look at Heather, who is watching him expectantly, and he shakes off his disquiet and answers her smile with one of his own. 

***

“Found it!” Clint calls out. Steve stops staring at the slightly lopsided tree in front of him and walks over to the archer. They’ve been out here for close to an hour now, debating the merits of this tree or that, trying to find just the right one. The snow is still falling, heavier now, leaving a couple inches on the ground already. Clint had been busy tossing snowballs at all of them, until Bucky tackled him and shoved a few handfuls of snow down the front of his shirt, swearing in Russian the whole time. Nat had lost it, cackling wildly and refusing to translate.

When he turns the corner and sees the tree that Clint picked out, he has to agree with the other man. It’s perfect. The others quickly agree, so Steve goes over and gives the tree a good shake, clearing out any loose needles and anything else that might fall on him while he’s chopping it down. 

Nothing drops out, so he kneels down and swings the ax in a smooth arc, neatly getting a good third of the way through the trunk. Once more, and he’s nearly got it. He swings the final time, and the tree topples. Steve stands up, just as he sees some of the branches start moving around. 

“Looks like you got a live one, Cap,” Tony supplies. He glances at his friend, and then steps in closer, lifting the moving branches. 

There’s a squeak, and then a startled ball of gray fur shoots about a foot up in the air. A squirrel, his confused mind provides. The rodent bolts from the tree, little legs pumping just as fast as they can. 

Steve watches in shocked amusement as the squirrel, in its panic, heads straight for Bucky, scrambling halfway up his legs before Bucky even seems to realize what is happening. Heather shrieks and jumps back, leaving Bucky to bat at the thing with his hands as it moves up his stomach and chest. Finally, it reaches his shoulder and leaps into the nearest tree. 

There’s a moment of shocked silence, and then everyone bursts out in startled laughter. Everyone except Bucky, who is back to muttering in Russian again, but Steve is pretty sure he picks up on the words for _snow, cold,_ and _fuck this._

Clint drags the tree back to the waiting wagon, as Bucky straight-out refuses to do so. Two hours later, the tree is standing tall in Amelia’s living room, positioned right near the picture window. There are boxes of decorations scattered around, and Christmas cookies in the oven. 

Bucky’s bad mood disintegrates when Amelia pulled him into the kitchen and stuck a wooden spoon in his hand, getting him to help with the baking. As soon as he started, the scowl dissipated, and they were joking around within a few minutes. And if Bucky swiped a full scoop of cookie dough onto the spoon before they finished the job, setting it aside until the cookies were in the oven and then propping himself up at the kitchen island to enjoy it, no one said a word.

Steve ignores Amelia’s shrieks of laughter as he picks her up onto his shoulders to let her place the star on the top of the tree. The final detail in place, he sets her down beside him, Bucky on her opposite side, and they stand their waiting as Tony flips the switch to turn the tree on. 

It’s beautiful.

The snow is still falling outside, and the air smells like sugar cookies. He has his best friend back, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Christmas is only bringing happy memories. The ghosts of his past are quieter here, surrounded by the people he cares for. 

And Steve can’t remember when he’s ever been so content.

***

The next morning, Amelia is the first up, even before Steve, to take care of her bulls, but she’s not entirely surprised when Steve joins her out at the barn when she’s about halfway through chores. She slips a few hard candies from her pocket and hands them to him. “Here. They really like the caramels.” 

Steve’s eyes light up like a kid at Christmas. “They can eat these?” 

“Yeah. The man who used to own the farm insisted on them getting regular treats. He’s even mailed a bag or two to me, to keep them well-supplied.” 

Steve unwraps the candies and kneels down beside the fence, slipping one to the first of the three bulls, and then making sure the other two two got their treats, too. Amelia can hear his delighted giggles. She glances over just in time to see Cupid give him a big lick, right along his cheek. Steve blinks in surprise, but then laughs, scratching the bull along the side of his face. 

“Do they have names?” 

“Mac is the red one, Cupid has a heart on his face. The big guy is Corkscrew.” Corkscrew was her favorite, a gentle giant with short curly grey fur. 

“Huh,” Steve responds, reaching out to rub Mac behind one of his ears. “I thought bulls were more aggressive than this.” 

“Depends on how you raise them, apparently. The guy who used to own them raised them as pets. These guys are all big babies.” 

Cupid reaches out, nuzzling Steve’s pockets, looking for more sweets, choosing to chew at Steve’s jacket when the pockets turn out to be empty. Steve looks so affronted that Amelia can’t help but laugh.

***

By two that afternoon, Tony is bored. He’s sitting on the couch, scrolling along on his phone. Pepper reaches over and snatches it from his hand, scowling. He sighs, and tilts his head back, looking at Amelia.

“So, kid, is there anything to do in this town, or are we all just going to sit out here until we grow gray from boredom?” Tony complains.

“Small town, sorry. Although… It’s Thursday, right? Rhett’s band is playing down at the Ducking Goose tonight. We could go. Not really your scene, but..” 

That sounds..promising. “Pepper, find me a cowboy hat. Oh, please tell me that there’s sawdust on the floors.” 

“Fire hazard,” Pepper supplies helpfully. “But I think I saw a western apparel store on our way through town.” 

_Perfect._

***

Five hours later, they’re parking the SUVs in the front of a small bar, Amelia pulling her truck into the space beside them. They’re only halfway across the parking lot when Rhett comes out the side door, walking over. His gaze lands on her guests, and there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes.

“You made it,” he says, an easy smile spreading across his face. “And you brought friends.” 

“In town for the holiday,” Amelia does a quick introduction. “They were getting restless; not used to small town life.” 

“No, I suppose they wouldn’t be. Well, I’m glad you came. Go on in and get comfortable. We’ll be starting in about twenty minutes.”

Amelia leads the team in, drawing a lot of stares as they make their way to a back booth.The waitress slides another table onto the end, and brings over more chairs, so that they can all sit together. Steve orders the first round, and Amelia orders some appetizers for everyone. There’s a jukebox playing some classic country song, and a few people are already dancing.

Steve’s already eyeing them warily, something that Bucky wastes no time in pointing out. 

Rhett and his band take the stage right on time, starting with an upbeat number that brings a crowd to the dance floor. Tony gets Pepper to follow him out, joining in the fun. 

“This is quite the place,” Nat comments. 

“Best bar in town,” Amelia replies. “I come out every couple of weeks to see the band. I even dance, once in awhile. Turns out, I’m pretty good at two-steps and line dancing.”

“You’ll have to show us.” She pauses, smiling slyly. “Rhett seems like a nice guy.” 

Amelia laughs. “Yeah, he really is.”

She misses the dark scowl on Bucky’s face as he stares up at the man on the stage.

Natasha, of course, doesn’t miss a thing.

***

At the beginning of the next set, Rhett leans over, talking to the other band members out of mic range. A moment later, he catches Amy’s gaze, and grins. “Ladies and gentlemen, a real good friend of mine is out here tonight. We met a few months ago when she came into the store, and I’ve been trying to convince her to join our band ever since. You think if we give her a round of applause she might come up and join me on stage?” 

The crowd starts clapping, and Rhett gestures for her to come up. Amelia dropped her head into her hands. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Come on, Amy. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Tony goads. She glares at him, and then glances over to Bucky. He is grinning widely, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. 

Shaking her head, she stands up and makes her way to the stage. Rhett whispers something in her ear, and she nods as he starts up the first few chords. 

_“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear you..Wish you would talk your way right over here...”_

Bucky watches as Rhett and Amelia sang about spending the night together, both getting into the song, and a vague uneasiness settles into his stomach. She looks happy. And she looks like there’s a whole lot more than simple friendship between her and the musician. 

He’s _jealous_. That’s ridiculous. He has Heather, her hand in his as she taps her toes along with the beat. He slips his arm around her, trying to ignore the way she flinches away from the touch of metal along the back of her neck. 

Rhett hands over his guitar for a second song, and Bucky watches her play, the way her fingers are still a bit uncertain on the strings, but she doesn’t hit a single off-note as she plays. The song is slow and sweet, and he finds himself getting caught in the melody.

The third song is another duet, a Christmas number with a swing that reminds him of something older. Bucky leans over closer to Heather. “Dance with me.” 

“I don’t dance. I’m sorry, love. Especially not to this type of music. And these heels are killing my feet.” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on, one song.” 

“Maybe in a bit. Don’t you want to watch your friend?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He settles back into his seat. The song ends, and with the audience cheering loudly, Amelia gave a nervous little bow, and then quickly returned to her seat. Her face flushes bright red with embarrassment. 

“You,” Tony says, handing her a drink, “are a natural on that stage.” 

Amelia groans. “Don’t get used to it. This isn’t something I make a habit out of.” 

“You should take him up on his offer,” Steve offers. 

“Not likely.” 

“She’s going to leave the choir girl stuff up to you,” Bucky jokes. 

“Choir girl?” Heather asks. 

“I used to, uh, entertain the troops.” 

“Please tell me that there was a dress involved,” Clint says. 

Captain America winces. “Just the one time. I lost a bet.” 

Everyone laughs, and Amelia casts Bucky a grateful look. He nods, and holds up his drink in silent acknowledgement. 

The band starts a slow song, and Heather stands, tugging on his hand. “This one.” 

He casts Amelia an apologetic glance, and follows Heather up to the dance floor. She wraps her arms around him, moving with him as the band sang about hanging onto things that were made to last. 

“This has been such a fun trip already. Thank you so much for inviting me along.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Well, you’ll have to let me thank you properly after we get back to the hotel.” She gives him a salacious wink, and moves a little closer. He feels her breasts brush against him suggestively, and he takes a small step back. She frowns. “Is everything alright?” 

He gives her his most charming grin. “Of course. No need to rush, though, right? Let’s just enjoy the music.” 

The lyrics go on about finding a timeless, one-of-a-kind woman, and Bucky wants more than anything to feel that for the woman in his arms. But his gaze steals over to Amelia, sitting and laughing at Steve’s side, and he can’t help but wish he was back sitting down with them. 

The song ends and a slightly faster song starts. One of the local girls finally works up the courage to ask Steve to dance, and everyone else partners up, leaving Amelia sitting on her own. She stands, and makes her way towards the exit. 

“Do you want to grab us a couple drinks?” he asks Heather. “I’ll be right back.” 

He takes off after Amelia, slipping out the door and finding her sitting on a bench out near the parking lot. The sky is clear, and stars shine brightly above them. He walks over and takes the space beside her. 

“We don’t get stars like that in New York.” 

She turns to face him. “Fewer city lights out here. Are you having a good time?” 

“Are you?” 

She chuckles softly. “Yeah. Just needed a moment. It’s crowded in there tonight. Word must have gotten out that you were all in town. The Avengers in Durwood Springs. That’s big news in a small town.” 

He nods, thinking for a moment. “Are you happy here?” 

“Where’d that come from?” 

“Nothing. I was just wondering. Seeing you on the stage, and around your friends here, you seem more comfortable than you were in NY. Was living with us so bad?” 

“What? No. Of course not. I am more at ease here, but that’s because there aren’t as many people. No crowds. Little traffic. More community. I love the people here, and I appreciate that they’ve taken me in. But I miss you, too. All of you. And sometimes I hate being so far away. If anything happened, heaven forbid, it’d take me a day to get back. That terrifies me.” 

“You’d come running to our rescue?” Bucky asks, smiling. 

“I might be a bit late to rescue you, but I’d hand out the ice packs afterward.” 

A wistful smile crosses his face. “I get a dance, right? Before the night is over?” 

She blinks at the sudden change in conversation. “As long as Heather doesn’t mind me borrowing you for a song. I’d hate to make things uncomfortable for her.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay. But I’ll ask, if it’ll make you happy.” 

“It will. You know, I taught a few friends some of the dances you taught me.” 

He grins. “Yeah? And how did you explain knowing dances from the ‘40s, if you didn’t admit to knowing us?” 

A teasing smile crosses her face. “I told them that my grandfather taught me.” She sweeps past him, entering the bar. Bucky stands there, shaking his head as his smile grows. He enters the bar to find her making her way to the stage again. Heather is nowhere to be found, Rhett bends down to hear her request, nodding, and then the music starts just as she reaches his side. He takes her hand and leads her out to the dance floor. The song is upbeat, and just right for him to pull out some of his dated dance moves. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Steve catches on, pulling Natasha up to dance with him. 

Amelia fits into his arms, moving easily around the room with him, matching him step for step. 

The song ends, and before he pulls away, a second song starts up. Amelia goes to step back, but he holds fast to her hands. “One more.”

“Bucky…”

“Please?” 

She gives in, relaxing into his touch. This song was slower, something sweet and gentle. He tugs Amelia a little closer. 

_“Take my hand. Take my whole life, too…”_

Amelia bites her tongue to keep her expression neutral. She’s going to kill Rhett. Slowly and painfully. All she wanted was to set her head against Bucky’s shoulder, and forget for just a moment that she could never have him. Forget that, for them, she really would be in his way if she tried to find a place in his life. 

It’s just that-- walking away from him, pretending that they were nothing more than friends, and that she was happy for him and Heather--is killing her. She wants things to be like they were, back when it was still easy between them. Back when he’d still come to her when he had a bad night, and she didn’t have to wake each morning wondering if there was anyone there to sit with him when he woke screaming. 

She chances a look at his face, and watches his eyes darken with emotion. Unconsciously, she steps in, until her head is resting on his shoulder. He gives a pained shudder, and wraps his arms tighter around her. 

***

Steve catches Tony’s gaze, and then tilts his head towards the dancing couple. The other man nods; he sees it too. No matter what lies Bucky tells himself about his feelings for Heather, it’s painfully clear that the Soldier is still in love with Amelia. Heather, for her part, doesn’t seem to notice. She’s off in the ladies’ room, missing the whole thing. Probably for the best. 

“Buck, can we talk?” Steve asks, walking up behind him in the parking lot, as they are preparing to leave. 

Bucky tenses. “I’m not going to like this conversation, am I?” 

“What’s going on with you and Amelia?”

“Nothing.” His answer is sharp, but careful. 

“The dance earlier--” 

Bucky cuts him off. “Was just a dance. Look, Heather is waiting for me, so if you’re done--” 

“You deserve to be happy, Bucky.”

Bucky pauses. “I am.” 

“Are you? Because it looks to me like you’re settling. Heather is the wrong girl for you, Buck. She flinches away from your prosthetic. She isn’t interested in who you were before, or what changed you. And you’ve never looked as at peace with her as you looked tonight with Amy in your arms.”

He swallows. “Steve-”

“Just think about it, before you do something that you can’t fix.”

***

"So, he's the one, huh?" Rhett asks, as he loads the last of the equipment onto the dock. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come off it, Amy. You've been mooning over that guy since you moved out here. And see, that's what I don't get. Why move to Durwood Springs when it it meant leaving him behind?"

"Because he doesn't know, and because I can't tell him. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. And, you know, there's the small matter of his girlfriend." 

"Oh, please. She doesn't love him." 

Amy stills. “She does, though.” 

“Yeah, no. I’m the expert in this, remember? And that woman feels nothing for your friend.”

Amy glances out the door, seeing Heather walking over to where Steve and Bucky stood. The other woman slips her arms around Bucky’s waist, leaning into him. 

Amelia turns away. 

“You aren’t as surprised as you’re pretending to be,” Rhett says casually. 

And as much as she hates to admit it, Amelia has to agree.

***

Their third day in Arkansas starts off unseasonably warm, with the sun shining and birds calling back and forth between the trees. The downstairs door slams; Steve is back from his run.

Tony groans, and pulls his pillow over his face. So much for sleeping in. He lays there a moment, regretting the missed hours of sleep, before rolling out of bed, careful not to wake Pepper. Maybe it’s time to head down to the basement and see what equipment he can find. He’d love to make a few hardware upgrades before he has to head back to New York. 

Tony showers and grabs breakfast on his way through the kitchen, heading towards the basement door. Five minute later, he’s optimizing Amy’s security system to take on the task of arming one of his sentinels, just in case. It would take twenty minutes, at full power, for him to reach her home in the case of an emergency. If anything ever happened, she might not have that much time. 

Actually, he’d better make the system work with a couple sentinels. Just in case. 

He’s still working when Clint came wandering down the stairs. The archer takes one look at the collection of bits and pieces, and whistles softly. “You’ve been busy.” 

“Just a few minor upgrades.” 

“Yeah, it looks it. Hey, if you want to take a break for lunch, I grabbed some pizza on the way through town. Thought it might be nice to give Amy a break from cooking for us. And then I think we’re going to hike around the property after. You in?” 

Tony glances at his work, mostly done. He can finish up tomorrow, and then get Jarvis to send a few of the Sentinels out right after Christmas, so he can get them installed before he leaves.

“Yeah. I’ll be right up. Thanks.” 

\---

The hike takes an a couple hours. Dinner is something quick and easy, and then after, they get ready to head out to the hot springs. Amelia grabs a couple of camp chairs, setting them over her back as she follows the others out the door. It’s only a short walk to the caves, but she can already feel Tony’s pensiveness. 

“Hey,” she says, handing him one of the chairs, “We can sit outside. Watch the stars and fireflies, alright?” 

“You mean we don’t have to sit and stew in the hot water with the rest of the party?” 

Amelia grins. “Thought you might prefer the quiet outside.” Tony tried so hard to not let anyone see the cracks, but caves were one thing he still couldn’t tolerate. 

The others carried towels and swimsuits, eager for a few hours of soaking in the naturally heated water. She doesn’t blame them; it’s one of her favorite features on the property. But she won’t leave Tony to sit alone and wait for them. 

It doesn’t take long to reach the cave, and within a few minutes, the others are inside, while Amelia and Tony are setting up their chairs. Amelia hands him a bottled water from her bag, and leans back, staring out at the woods and fields before them. 

“I can smell your cows from here.”

“You’re imagining things,” Amelia responds. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Two months away from the tower, and your sense of smell is going.” 

Amelia snorts. “Whatever.”

Tony kicks her shoe with his and grins.

***

Bucky sinks into the hot water. The heat soaks into his muscles, and he settles back, feeling his body slowly relax. The others chat around him, but he stays silent, head resting against the curved rocks.

Christmas is a few days away. After that, Steve is driving back with Amelia, but the rest of them will be reboarding the Stark jet and returning to New York, where they’ll all be together again for New Years. 

And then four months later, it will be a year since he found his way out of HYDRA’s grasp and to Amelia’s doorstep. A year of freedom. 

He’d come so far. 

Steve laughs from a few feet away, and Bucky looks over. The steam is turning Steve’s cheeks red, and when he laughs again, he looks happy. Bucky feels a soft smile twist along his lips. He remembers when Steve had been smaller, sicker, and angrier. And as much as he misses the way Steve used to be, seeing who he is now, healthier and finally surrounded by friends who care for him. 

It’s everything he’d ever wanted for him. And despite everything he went through to get here, Bucky’s really happy to be around to see it. 

***

Christmas Eve dawns cold and gray. The air smells sharp, threatening more snow as Steve pulls on his running shoes and a sweatshirt before making his way outside. Running off of a set path has been good for him over the past few days. Navigating the unfamiliar terrain keeps him sharp, and the sounds of birds, running water, and other wildlife rustling about nearby soothes his thoughts. It’s the most at peace he’s felt in a while. 

Steve is a city boy at heart, always will be, but there’s something about being this far away from the rush of New York that makes him feel settled. 

He leaps over the pasture fence, and one of the bulls lifts its shaggy head to watch him go past. Steve gives the animal a little wave as he goes past, and then chuckles softly at himself. The shaggy creatures were growing on him. 

Maybe it was time to start thinking about getting a pet. A dog, maybe. 

Most of the team heads downtown after breakfast, finishing up their Christmas shopping and getting a few last-minute supplies for Christmas dinner. The afternoon is spent wrapping, baking, and watching holiday movies. 

Dinner's almost ready to go into the oven when the Amelia’s phone rings. She sticks the phone in her pocket after the call, and goes to grab her phone. “That was the neighbors. Corkscrew is out of the pen, heading out towards the river. You guys stay here. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Steve glances out at the darkening sky. “You’re going by yourself?” 

“I have a flashlight. I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time he’s done this. Won’t be the last.” 

“Well, I bet an extra pair of hands might come in useful, though. After all, it’s Christmas Eve. No time to be out in the cold on your own,” Steve says, slipping into his coat. 

“We’ll come, too,” Heather offers, slipping on her own coat. Bucky does the same. Five minutes later, they’re halfway to the barn. 

They crest the small hill just as the sunset reached its peak, casting the hills before them in a cascade of red and orange light. Bucky stops short, starring. 

“You know, I had my doubts when you moved out here, but that? That’s beautiful.” 

Amelia stops beside him. “It is, isn’t it? There’s actually a ledge up just north of here, and it’s even more beautiful there. I’ll have to show you before you head home.” She pauses. “All of you, I mean.” 

A small smile crosses his face. “I’d like that. I’m sure we all would.”

Steve passes them, with Heather tight behind him. “Are you two coming or not?” he calls back.

Bucky grins at Amelia, and they pick up their pace. A few minutes later, the barn comes into view, and Amelia slows down. 

“Hang on, guys. I’m just going in to check the inside real quick. I have more flashlights in there, too. Give me a second.”

“I’ll help you carry,” Heather said with a smile, following her in. Bucky and Steve hang back. 

“You’re going to miss her,” Steve says cautiously, watching how Bucky keeps his eyes on Amelia more than he does on Heather. 

“I’m happy with Heather.”

Steve says silent. 

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, I miss her.” 

Steve drops a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I know, pal.”

***

Amelia leads the way into the barn, flipping on the light just inside the door. The small back door is open. That’s how he got out, then. Cupid and Mac watch her from their own stalls. 

Amelia checks the locking mechanism on Corkscrew’s pen, bending over to get a closer look. “That’s odd. This has been tampered with. Hey, Heather, can you pass me the--” She turns, just in time to see the blonde slam a heavy flashlight down towards her. The world goes dark before she can so much as call for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err... Before you all hate me, the next chapter is 95% done. It'll be up Wednesday afternoon/evening. In the meantime, feel free to leave a comment if you'd like. :)


	36. Bells Will Be Ringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Twas Christmas Eve, and all was not silent, holy, or bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! 
> 
> Comic Con was fantastic, so this is a few days late. I tried to get it up on Wednesday, but the guy sitting in front of me thought he needed his chair pushed back until he was practically in my lap. 
> 
> Good times. 
> 
> Unfortunately, that left very little room for typing. 
> 
> So, here we are. A few days late, but hopefully that will be forgiven by the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts at the end! Your comments are so fantastic and always so inspiring. I appreciate them all, and I love hearing your thoughts on the story. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

She wakes with a pounding headache and blurred vision. A hand to the back of her head reveals blood. Amelia sits up slowly, as the moments before she was knocked out come back to her. Heather. And now, Heather is out there with her friends, and they probably have no idea that anything is wrong.

The light shining in from the window is still good enough to see by; she hasn’t been out for long, then. Amelia digs through her coat pocket for her phone, and then presses in Tony’s number. 

“Tony, Heather attacked me. I’m going to go find Steve and Bucky. I’m not sure where she is, but-”

“She’s with HYDRA. We had company after you left.” Amelia hears a roar in the background. “Well, crap. They just had to go and piss off Big Green, didn’t they? Listen, Amelia, steer clear, okay? Steve and Bucko can handle Heather. Stay where you are, and I’ll come get you once this is over.” 

Like hell, she thinks, reaching around through her cupboard for a cannister. “Don’t worry about me. Just be careful, okay?” 

“Got it. Chat soon.” He signs off. Amelia sticks her phone into her back pocket, grabs the aerosol spray bottle and a shovel, and then sneaks out the side door. No way is she letting that woman, or the organization she works for, get their hands on Bucky. Not again. 

She’s just past the barn when a gunshot, followed by a grunt of pain, reaches her ears. _Steve._ They were somewhere back along the path still. Amelia slips into the trees, staying out of sight and praying that the wound was minor, while she hurried towards them as quickly as she could. 

The scene, when she finds it, is worse than she could have imagined. Steve is on his side, barely holding himself on one elbow while using the opposite hand to press against his stomach. Blood seeps out around his fingers as he struggles to get up. 

Seeing Steve in pain is bad. Seeing Bucky breaks her heart and makes rage boil hot through her blood.

He’s on his knees, facing Heather. His hands were lax at his sides, his gaze on the ground. Shoulders slumped. He looks like the man who had first come to her back door all of those months ago. 

Defeated. Scared. Lost. 

Heather is still speaking, her tone scolding and cruel, but Amelia is still too far away to hear what she’s saying. Whatever it is, Steve was doing his best to refute it, but it’s like Bucky doesn’t even hear him. Heather moves forward, bringing her hand down hard against Bucky’s face. He jerks with the motion, his gaze still not rising to meet her, so Heather grabs his hair, yanking it cruelly back, forcing him to look up. By then, Amelia has moved close enough to catch her words. 

“Hydra’s little puppet. You never really left. This whole time, we’ve been tracking you, waiting for you to give us the right opportunity to tear the Avengers apart. Now, look. Your friend is bleeding, dying, and you’re too weak to do anything to help him. Do you think your time away made you stronger? Made you human? You are still nothing more than a weapon, and you are still doing our bidding. By now, the Avengers are laying in the mud, their lifeblood spilling from them. And it’s all thanks to you.” She releases him, shoving forward, and he nearly falls with the movement. 

Steve glances up and notices Amelia working her way towards them. He carefully slips his eyes past her, and then back towards Heather.

“You can’t win this. He’s stronger than you’re giving him credit for. Come on, Bucky, fight!” 

Heather just laughs. “Fight for what? For you? For your Avengers? He’s just a mind wipe away from not knowing your names, and he knows it. Or should he fight for his Amelia? She ran away and left him. She’s the whole reason this worked. Not that it’s going to help her much now.” 

Bucky pulls in further on himself. This close, Amelia can see him shaking. She’s within feet of Heather now. Close enough to pull this off. Hopefully. 

“You don’t think so?” Amelia asks casually. 

Heather spins around. “What--” 

Amelia’s ready. She presses down on the top of the cannister, releasing a spray of wasp killer. It hits Heather square in the face, and she shrieks, pulling her hands up to protect herself. The gun falls from her hands in the process. 

“That’s for my letting my cow loose,” Amelia says, as she drops the can and brings the shovel around. It hits her in the side of the head and the HYDRA member drops. “And that’s for my friends. Bitch.” The shovel falls from her fingers, and she glances to Steve. “How bad is it?”   
Steve waves her off. “Fine. Just need a minute.” He rolls back, resting to recover his strength, even if his eyes never leave her. 

Amelia turns back and makes her way to Bucky. He hasn’t moved, staring forward with an empty expression, gaze unfocused. “Careful,” Steve warns. She nods, letting him know that she heard. She slowly gets on her knees only a few feet before the soldier. At her approach, he drops his gaze, focusing on the ground with hands lax, shoulders still slumped forward. 

She wants to cry, and can feel tears burning behind her eyelids. But this isn’t the time, so she forces them back.

“Bucky?” She struggles to speak around the lump in her throat. “It’s Amelia. Everything is okay now, but I need you to look at me.”

There was no response. Amelia moves a foot closer. “Bucky, you’re safe. It’s okay. Just give me some sign that you hear me, Sweetheart.” She could see him trembling, and hears his breath stuttering in and out. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore,” he said softly, his words hesitant. “Please, don’t make me go back.”

She gets the feeling that he still isn’t aware of her sitting before him, but it’s a step forward, even if it's a small one. “You don’t have to. That’s all behind you. No more hurting people. and no one can hurt you anymore, either. Just... come back to me, Bucky. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.” 

He blinks. Finally, he raises his gaze. “Amelia?” His voice breaks on her name.

“Hey. Are you alright? Do you think you can stand up?”

He nods. Amelia quickly gets to her feet, and then holds out her hand. He slips his hand into hers as he stands, and then pulls her tightly against him. “She said you were dead.” 

Amelia puts her arms around him, one hand soothing along his scalp, trying to erase the way the other woman handled him so roughly. “She was wrong.” 

“What she said--” 

“None of it was true. None of it. You are never going back to them, do you understand?” He nods weakly. “Good. Steve needs our help. He was hurt.” 

***

“Steve..” Bucky turns, and quickly makes his way to his friend’s side. Amelia pulls off her coat, and then quickly unbuttons the flannel beneath it, handing it over to use as a makeshift bandage. 

Bucky accepts the offering, quickly shredding it into strips. He pulls Steve’s shirt out of the way, but his movement is stopped by Steve’s hand on his. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” 

He gives his best reassuring smile, trying to ignore the way his face feels like it’s about to crack under the strain. “I’m fine. A bit shaken up, but nothing I can’t handle.” 

Steve’s gaze flickers past him, and Bucky turns, seeing Heather sprawled across the ground. He can see the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. She is still alive, which tells him that whatever happened to her, it wasn’t at his hands. He can still hear her voice, calling him a weapon, and he shudders. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky.” 

He turns to look at Amelia. “For what?” His response is cold, and for a moment she looks worried. 

“I know you cared for her.” 

Bucky shrugs it off, and goes back to taking care of his friend. Amelia kneels down across from him, setting a supportive hand on Steve’s shoulder. The Captain glances to her. 

“Call the others. Tell them we’re going to need someone to carry her down the hill, and some rope. We’ll figure out what to do when we get down there.” 

“They’re a bit busy. She wasn’t here alone. I called Tony before I came to find you guys.”

“We need to get down there,” Steve gasps as Bucky tightens the bandage. 

“What about her?” Amelia asks, nodding towards the still-unconscious HYDRA agent. 

Bucky feels both sets of eyes on him. “Tie her up. Leave her in the bushes. We’ll come back for her.”

Amelia takes off to get some twine from the barn while Bucky helps Steve to his feet. By the time the Captain is standing again, Amelia is back. Bucky takes the rope, leaving Amelia to support Steve until he returns. Minutes later, they are on their way back to the house. 

Bucky gets it. He knows that he should feel _something_ over Heather’s betrayal. But all he feels is sick. Shaky. Afraid, like he hasn’t been in months. For a few moments, he was completely in someone else’s control again. He’d become nothing more than a tool, all humanity left behind. It left him feeling empty and cold. 

And then he pushes it away. There’s work to be done. Steve has one arm draped across his shoulders, relying on Bucky for support. Amelia stands on his other side, close enough to step in if needed. There still hasn’t been an explanation for what happened to Heather, but he isn’t going to push. He’d seen the wasp can and shovel, and he isn’t stupid. 

***

The fight is almost over by the time they arrive. Steve and Bucky leave Amelia with Pepper and go to join the battle. Not fifteen minutes later, Tony comes back for them. 

“Amelia, I need you to take a deep breath,” he says, after greeting Pepper and assuring them that the team is relatively uninjured. 

She lets out a short breathe. “What did they do?” 

“Your home is going to need some...minor repairs.” 

Amelia curses under her breath and takes off. Minor repairs is being kind. Her living room is missing a large part of the wall. The Christmas tree is in pieces, ornaments and lights shattered on the floor. She stands on the porch, looking in, doing her best not to cry. Bruce is patching Steve up in the kitchen. The others are tying up what’s left of HYDRA. 

Bucky is standing off by himself. She starts to walk towards him, but he shakes his head, and walks further away. 

Tony walks up the porch steps, setting his arm across her shoulders. “I’ll get this taken care of.” 

Amy laughs hollowly, and can hear the hint of hysteria in it. “I don’t-- I don’t care about the house, not really. Can’t believe they destroyed my living room again, though. Just-- this whole time, and we didn’t know HYDRA was that close.”

“They didn’t get us, kid. We’re okay. Steve’s going to be okay. And Bucky’s strong. He’s going to get through this.” 

Amelia glances over at Bucky again, taking in the way he’s rubbing along one arm, looking so alone and scared, knowing that he won’t let her be there right now, and hating it. 

And not just because she’s worried about him. She’s scared, too. Her home was torn apart again, and her head was throbbing. Today could have gone very differently, for all of them.

Clint finds some tarps in the garage and works on covering the holes in the house, and then he and Tony go off to find Corkscrew. The rest of them head back to the hotel. They don’t have any extra vacancies, so they’re limited to two rooms already being used by the team.

Amelia holds the ice pack to her head, trying to not think about the mess she’s going to have to deal with in the morning. Steve is laying in one hotel bed, medicated and resting comfortably. Natasha and Clint were still monitoring the captured agents back out at the farm. Everyone else was passing around eggnog and a box of baked goods from the local grocery store. 

Everyone, that is, except Bucky. The ex-Winter Soldier was in the room he was meant to share with Heather. Outside of letting Steve know that he was okay, just needing a few minutes, he hadn’t spoken to anyone since they’d returned to the hotel, and that was nearly two hours ago. 

“Go find him,” Steve suggests in a soft, somewhat slurred voice. He’s awake, but in pain, currently set up in a bed, Amelia sitting beside him, hand resting in his as they all pretend to concentrate on some old cheesy cable holiday movie. 

Amelia shakes her head. “I am the last person he wants to see right now, all things considered. Tony’s good with him. Maybe--”

“He needs you. That never changed, Amy. He still needs you.” 

Amelia shakes her head, but eventually stands and slips out of the room. She pads to the other room, feet bare on the carpet, and knocks on the door. 

“Bucky, are you still up? It’s Amelia.”

The door opens. A flash of emotion flickers over his face before he pastes on a self-effacing smile. “You drew the short straw, then, huh?”

“I don’t understand.” She did. They both knew it. 

“Steve couldn’t talk anyone else into coming to check on me? Make sure that I’m not a danger to myself or others?” 

“He’s worried.”

“I’m fine.” He steps back, looking away. Amelia follows him in. 

“It’s okay if you’re not, you know. It’s been a hell of a day.” 

“Hell of a--” He laughs bitterly. “I nearly got us all killed.”

“You didn’t. Heather had all of us fooled, not just you. And no one blames you for any of this.” 

He shakes his head and turns away. Amelia walks over slowly, setting a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” 

“No. No, I’m not. I’ve spent the past eight months thinking I was safe, but I was under their watch this whole time. They were right there. And hearing her today…I don’t want to go back to that.” His voice cracks on the last word, and Amelia feels tremors move along his body.

She turns him until he faces her. “You won’t. They aren’t going to get you. We’re all here, and no one is going to let them get near you again. You’re safe, Bucky.”

“That’s what I thought before, too. It’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?” 

Amelia wraps her arms tightly around him. “Not going to happen.”

Bucky lowers his head, pressing his face against the soft locks of her hair. “You can’t know that.”

“Everyone on the other side of that wall has your back. They won’t let anything happen to you. You’re not facing any of this alone, Bucky.” 

“I-- I don’t know if that’s true. After today--” 

“No one blames you. You’re one of them. Part of the family, dysfunctional as it might be. They won’t let anything take you away.” 

“Come home.” The words are rushed out, like he’s afraid that if he waits, they won’t come.

Amelia’s heart twists at the desperation in his voice, and wishes she could respond differently. “I am home,” she says, finally.

His grip tightens. “I mean it, Amelia. HYDRA knows where you live. They’ll use you against us. At best, they use you to lead us into a trap. At worst, they torture you for information and dump your body in the ocean. You aren’t safe here.” 

“Can we not fight about this right now? Please?”

He nods, letting his head fall back down to hers. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.” 

***

When Clint walks in two hours later, he finds them fast asleep. Bucky has his arms held around her as she lays on his chest, her own arms draped around his torso. Hawkeye pulls out his phone and snaps a quick picture, and then another, just to make sure. And then he wanders back into the other room. He tosses the phone in the general vicinity of Steve. The other man catches it, and looks at the screen. 

“He’ll be alright.” Clint tells him. “Her, too.” 

Steve nods. “Thanks. You mind sending me a copy?” 

Tony leans over, snagging the phone. “I have JARVIS sending two sentinels. I already have her system set up for them, assuming nothing got knocked offline today. They’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll have to make some customizations, but,” his jaw tightens, “this won’t happen again.” 

“You couldn’t have stopped this, Tony,” Nat reminds him. 

“No? You don’t think there was some sign somewhere that Bucky’s girlfriend was a HYDRA plant?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t look deep enough. There would have been some sign, something somewhere, and I didn’t even think to look.” 

“Any one of us could have tried to do more to prevent this,” Bruce says kindly, “but none of us did. The best we can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again. We know they’re still after him. Now, we can be better prepared.”

Steve and Tony exchange a glance. “We screen everyone who comes in contact with any of us. Double the security. Nothing touches him,” Steve states. 

Tony nods in affirmation. “Consider it done. And the sentinels will be here tomorrow. They’ll keep Amy safe, too. Nothing will get to her; the sentinels will slow any threats down, giving me time to get out here.” 

Steve nods sharply. “Good.”

***

Christmas dawns bright and early, sunlight shining through the hotel blinds. Amelia stretches, feeling the man beside her. Bucky stirs in his sleep, his arm curling around her waist, and she set her arms around his, holding him to her as the memories from the night before came back to her. 

Her living room was open to the elements, a huge hole now taking up the space where her sofa had been. Her friends had been attacked, wounded. Shot. And she had nearly died. Had Heather’s aim fallen true, she wouldn’t be here this morning. 

The room has two beds, and she glances over, seeing the Clint and Natasha sprawled across the other mattress. Clint opens his eyes and looks at her. 

“Morning. Merry Christmas,” she says with a smile. 

“Merry Christmas. He still asleep?” 

“Think so.”

 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better than I thought I would. How are the others?” 

“Cap was sleeping, last I saw him. We didn’t stay up as late as the others. Everyone made it back alright. No further incidents.” 

The arm around her tightens. “Shh. Sleep,” Bucky mumbles. Clint grins at her. Moments later, a sharp knock comes at the door. “Ho Ho Ho, kiddies! Time to get up! I want to see if Santa left me the micro visual responder system I asked for. Also, Pepper got us cinnamon rolls.” 

Bucky pushes himself up to one elbow, lifting his head to look around with his other arm still securely around Amelia’s waist. She can feel the moment the memories of the night before sink back in. He stiffens above her, pulling away. Amelia sees Clint and Natasha exchange a wary glance, and she turns, seeing Bucky’s eyes darken above her. She holds out a hand, asking the others to stay back, and then positions herself in front of him. She slips her hand up along his face, nudging his head slightly to look at her. His bionic hand twitches against her thigh. 

“Bucky,” she says softly. He meets her gaze, then tentatively reaches up, mirroring her by setting his hand against her face. 

“Amelia?” he asks, after a moment, his vision slowly clearing.

“Good morning. Merry Christmas.” 

His gaze travels past her, around the room until it lands on Clint and Natasha. He meets their gaze, nodding in recognition before turning back to Amelia. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Hey,” she says with a small smile. He leans in, his head resting against hers, his hand still settled on her cheek. She can feel the slight way it trembles. 

“I’m grabbing a shower,” Clint says from behind her. 

“I’ll see if what the plan for today is,” Nat adds. Amelia hears rustling behind her, and then watches Clint disappear into the bathroom and hears the door click shut as Natasha closes it behind her, leaving them alone. 

“We’re okay,” Amelia reminds him. 

He nods, and then sits up the rest of the way, leaning back against the headboard and pulling Amelia onto his lap. “Can I-- I need--” He breaks off, but Amelia knows what he’s asking. She puts her arms around him, feeling him cling to her as she runs one hand through his hair. He presses his face against her neck and shakes as the sobs start to work their way out of his system. 

***

There were a beautiful few moments, caught between sleep and awake, when he could smell Amelia’s soft scent, feel her pressed against him, and he forgot that the last several months had ever happened. He could fool himself into thinking that they were back in the tower, curled up together in her bed. If he tried, he could dismiss the fact that the room felt wrong, the mattress and sheets weren’t hers, and there were more birds than traffic outside. 

For just those few moments, he was safe and content. 

And then reality crashed back in, and he remembered the moment Heather had come up over the hill, alone. Claiming that Amelia would catch up with them. And they’d had no reason to not believe her, so they followed Heather further up the trail. They thought nothing of it when she ended up walking behind them. 

It wasn’t until Bucky heard the sharp retort of a gun being fired, and heard Steve’s grunt of pain that he even realized there was anything wrong. 

Things got a little fuzzy after that. He was lucky, though. Whatever she said messed him up, but it wasn’t enough to activate him. When he thinks about what could have happened, had Hydra turned him against his friends… A shudder wracks his body. Immediately, Amelia is running a firm hand along his shoulder, soft assurances whispered against his skin. 

He remembers the fear, desperation… the heartbreak. And when Heather mentioned Amelia, said that she was already dead, he’d nearly given up, getting lost in her words, letting each one fall like an arrow into his heart. The Soldier, the hardened part of him Hydra had created, fought against the binds Heather had placed on on, coming forward reluctantly. 

He was unaware of anything after that, until Amelia’s voice cut through the fog, bringing him back. Alive and sitting before him. A miracle. 

She held out her hand to help him to his feet, and he pulled her in, hoping she didn’t realize how close he was to collapse, his knees barely able to support him. 

Didn’t matter. None of it did. He’d survive. He’d fight. And he’d do whatever it took to keep from losing her.

The thought of meeting up with the rest of the team, however, leaves him feeling anxious and sick. He failed. As an Avenger, his job was to find and neutralize threats, and with Heather? He’d let the threat just walk in through the front door (in a manner of speaking) and make itself at home. Hydra, spending time in Avengers Tower, invited to be a part of their world. 

And all because he wasn’t able to detect the threat before then. The others should hate him for that. He’s likely lost their trust and, in some cases, their friendship. 

No more than he deserves, really.

Clint exits the shower, and Bucky detangles himself from Amelia, excusing himself to use the restroom real quick. He can’t look himself in the eyes, so he finishes in silence, splashing water on his face and changing into a fresh outfit, and goes back out, where Amelia is already ready and waiting. 

“Everyone else is over there. Are you ready?” 

He hesitates. The thought of facing the rest of the team after yesterday sends sharp anxiety spiraling through his stomach. He feels sick. He can’t do this. Maybe it’s better if he just stays here and let’s them enjoy their holiday. 

Amelia walks over, gently taking his hand. “It’s okay. And I promise not to leave your side. It won’t be Christmas without you, Bucky.” 

He swallows hard and reaches out, slipping his hand into hers, not letting go until they’re outside the other hotel room, when he drops her hand, and takes a deep breath before opening the door.

He expects them to ask him to leave, or to give him the cold shoulder. Make it clear that he’s broken their trust, and that he doesn’t belong there anymore. 

Instead, he’s greeted with a room of smiles and concerned gazes. Steve pushes up, wincing at the demands he’s putting on his still-healing abdomen, and walks over to him, setting a hand on his shoulder, and then pulling him in for a hug. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Buck.” 

***

They’re just packing up the rest of the wrapping paper when Amelia’s phone rings. She picks it up, glancing at the screen before answering. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

_“Hey, are you okay? I just heard what happened.”_

“I’m fine. We’re all fine. Just have some repairs to do around the house.” 

_“You’ll have to fill me in when you get out here. Ma invited you and your friends out here for Christmas Dinner, and she’s not taking no for an answer. You know how she is.”_

“Rhett, I appreciate it, but that’s a lot of--” 

_“People have been calling all morning, seeing what they can do to help. We’ve had car after car dropping off supplies, and Mr. Tanner pulled in a half hour ago with two turkeys and a ham. We take care of our own out here, Amy. It’s taken care of. Come on out whenever you’re all ready, all right?”_

“Yeah.” She blinks back tears. “We’ll be there. Thanks, Rhett. We appreciate it.” She hangs up the phone, and glances at the waiting faces. “His mom invited us all out for Christmas dinner. The whole town came together to make sure we didn’t go without.” 

The others stand there in silence. 

“We can’t skip it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“We would be delighted to accept their generous invitation,” Pepper responds. “I can’t think of a nicer way to spend the holiday.”

***

Christmas at Rhett’s. Bucky knows that he’s being ungrateful, but spending time around the man who was blatantly flirting with Amelia on stage just a couple of nights ago (was that all it was? It felt like another time entirely.) sits in his stomach like soured milk. 

He’s joined Steve and Amelia in her truck, not ready to be around the others alone just yet. It’s a little crowded, but being pressed between his friends is the the only way he’s getting through the day. 

He pretends that he’s oblivious to the looks that pass back and forth between them. 

Rhett’s parents live in a cozy old victorian set just outside of town. By the time the vehicles pull into the driveway, finding space amongst the half a dozen other vehicles, it’s going on twelve-thirty. As soon as they park, an older woman, gray hair flowing down past her shoulders, comes out. 

She immediately goes to Amelia, fussing and giving her a hug. “Oh, you poor girl. When Rhett told me what happened, I just couldn’t believe it. Terrorists, in our small town. What is this world coming to? We’re all so thankful to your friends for taking care of them for us. Damned Nazis.” Her gaze travels past Amelia and lands on Steve, and her eyes light up. 

Bucky snorts softly. _Of course._

“And you must be Captain Rogers.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet.” She sets a hand on his arm, patting lightly. “You can call me Sally. I insist on it. My, gosh. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” 

Amelia gives Bucky an amused glance, and then moves in to separate Sally from Steve, introducing her to the rest of the crew. And as much as Bucky wants to dislike her on principle, he just can’t. She reminds him of his mom, a no-nonsense woman with a heart of gold, and the way she’s flirting with Steve is hilarious.

“Darn it, Sally. You leave that boy alone.” A gruff looking man comes out on the porch. “You ignore her, son. Come on in out of the cold and meet the rest of the family.” 

Amelia leads the way, and the man stands there, waiting to greet them. Rhett’s father is a decent guy, Bucky decides.

They walk into the home, greeted by the sight of Rhett chasing after a small toddler running past. A slightly older child follows after. A younger woman, maybe a couple years older than Amelia, brings up the rear, an infant balanced on one hip.

“Danny, you give the remote back to your daddy!” she shouts, before rolling her eyes and giving Amelia a friendly grin. “He’s on kid duty today. Told him we needed a bit to catch up. I was sorry to hear about your home. Is there anything I can do? We have the guest room if you need it while dealing with repairs. You know you’re always welcome.” 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude. And actually, I’m following everyone back to New York until after the New Year. Everything should be done by the time I’m home.” 

“Well, if you change your mind,” Jesse says, “you only need to ask.” 

Amelia hears giggling and turns around to see Clint holding Rhett’s youngest daughter up high above his head, helping her to “fly” around the room. Steve’s sitting on the couch, Rhett’s mother sitting nearby, listening as Steve talks to her husband. 

So, Rhett is married to a woman he’s obviously crazy about, with kids. Definitely not after Amy, then. He nearly smiles at the thought. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the feel of small hands along his arm. He glances down, seeing a small boy looking up at him. “Are you a robot?” 

From the corner of his eyes, Bucky sees Rhett pause, and feels the man’s gaze taking in every detail before shrugging and turning away. Curious. 

Bucky kneels down, holding his arm out for the child to see. “No.” He feels a smile tugging along his lips. “I was hurt, so some doctors made me a new arm.” 

The little boy’s eyes go wide. “Does it hurt?” 

“Not anymore.” 

“Oh. Okay.” The boy runs off. Bucky stands and watches him go, shaking his head. 

“Kids, eh?” Rhett asks, walking back in with a shake of his head. 

“He’s cute.” 

“Yeah, his mom thinks so.” The other man laughs, and Bucky cracks a small smile. “You’re worried about your place with the others. You don’t need to be. I’ve spent the last few hours watching them, seeing them all start to reach out to you, and seeing the care on their faces. Your friends are good people, Barnes, and you belong with them.”

Bucky blinks and shifts uncomfortably. 

“Sorry. That was out of nowhere. Let’s just say I had an interesting military career before retiring a few years ago. Nothing like yours, but I picked up a few things. When they figured out I was good at reading people, well..” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but I think you need to know.” 

He walks past, setting his hand briefly on Bucky’s shoulder as he goes past. Bucky grits his teeth, and then goes to find Amelia. 

She’s in the kitchen, helping Rhett’s mom with the meal. Steve is sitting nearby, stiff and sore, but well enough for the holidays. 

Amelia looks up when he walks in, and pauses in stirring the stuffing. “What’s wrong?” 

Steve turns. “Buck?” 

“I’m fine. Just need to borrow Amelia for a minute.” 

She nods, quickly following him out the back door. He walks several feet away from the house, and then turns back. 

“Hey, are you alright?” She touches his arm.

“What do you know about Rhett?”

“What?” 

“Rhett? Did you look into his history before becoming friends? Have anyone check him out?” 

“Tony did, as soon as I mentioned his name. Why? Bucky, you’re starting to worry me.” 

“He’s ex-military.” 

Amelia nods. “Special forces. I know.” 

“What kind of special forces?” 

Her eyes widen in understanding. “He read you.” 

“Is that what he calls it?” 

“Yeah. It shocked me the first time, too. He doesn’t make a habit of it, but when you can see things that other people can’t, well, sometimes it’s better to say something. He’s not enhanced or anything. He’s just very, very observant and very, very smart. But, yes, we checked into him. He’s a good guy, Bucky. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Other than that, how are you holding up?” 

“Good. I’m, uh, good.” 

Amelia squeezes his arm, and then steps back. “Good. I need to go back in, but feel free to stay out here a bit if you need, alright? No one here is going to question it.” 

“No, I’m good. Is there anything I can do in the kitchen?” 

Amelia laughs, and puts her arm through his. “Always.” 

***

They leave Sally’s home just before dark, laden with leftovers (and Steve with a few extra slices of pie, to help him heal faster, according to Sally). Steve, Bucky, and Amelia go back to her home to take care of the bulls and check on everything. While Steve goes to try to gather up some of his luggage, Bucky follows Amelia to the barn. On the way back, Bucky pauses, staring down over her home, and all of the broken trees, holes in the ground, and other destruction caused by the fight the day before.

His fault. All of it. Down to the swollen black and blue mark on the side of her head. “I’m sorry.” 

Amelia surveys the damage, and then shakes her head, turning to face him. “You have a horrible taste in women.”

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. “Not always.” 

“Girls before the war don’t count,” she laughs. “That was seventy years ago.” 

“Why did you move way out here?” He doesn’t plan on asking, not really, but once it’s out there, he has no way of taking it back.

“Because I like the quiet.”

“There are quiet suburbs in DC. If you go another hour past that, you have farm country. This wasn’t looking for quiet. This was running.” 

“Why are you doing this now?” 

“Because I’m trying to understand what happened to us, doll.”

“There was never an us.”

“There could have been.” His response is quiet. Hers, when it comes, is even quieter. 

“No. There couldn’t have.”

“How do you know? You wouldn’t even try.” 

“I didn’t have to. You as much as told me. You just didn’t know it at the time. You want to travel the world. I can’t. You want to have a family. I can’t do that, either. I’ll never have any of that, but you deserve to. You have a beautiful life ahead of you, and I knew that I couldn’t fit into it. So I backed off to let you find someone who could fit there, someone who could give you everything you wanted. And I left because, as much as I wanted you to be happy, I didn’t want to have to watch you fall in love and find all of that with someone else.”

He looks at her, and he thinks that, for the first time ever, he actually sees her. She is still staring ahead, and he can see the tears starting to gather in her eyes. He can also see the way her hands are trembling as she wipes them away, and the way they clench to hide that vulnerability from him. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I was injured when I was younger. It left me with a lot of issues, some physical, a whole lot psychological. It’s a lot of baggage, Bucky.”

“Was this when your parent’s died?” 

She nods. “Yeah.”

He takes a step closer to her, not quite close enough to touch. “What happened?” 

She stiffens, and takes a shaky breath. And then she pulls out her phone. Moments later, she hands it to him, and he watches as a plane crashes into a tall building. Minutes later, a second building is hit. By the end of the video, both buildings are little more than smoking rubble. His stomach twists, heart in his throat. He’d heard about this, but never looked too closely. Enough of his own problems, his own memories of horrible things, to work through. 

“We were on the thirty-fourth floor in the second building. I was home from school for a dentist appointment, but we stopped quick to bring my dad a late breakfast. When the first plane hit, we saw it and it was like we all stood around in shock for a few minutes, not even sure what was happening. It wasn’t until it really kicked in that everyone started to leave. And then the second plane hit. We made it as far as the thirteenth level before the building collapsed.” 

Bucky stares at the last image of the video, that of a team of firefighters carrying out a child’s body. He has seen horrible things. He has been the cause of horrible things. But this? This he cannot wrap his head around. 

“It took three days for them to find me. My parents died instantly, or at least, I assume they did. There was no answer when I called for them. I was saved by a chunk of metal that got caught on a support beam. My legs were crushed, but I survived. Everyone called it a miracle. I spent the next several years calling it a damn inconvenience. My legs took multiple surgeries, and I’ll need more as I get older. If I’m lucky, I won’t lose them entirely. A secondary infection nearly killed me; they had to take out my uterus to save my life. It took several months to be able to stand, and nearly a year after that until I could walk somewhat normally. I’m terrified of the dark, panic in tight spaces, and you’ll never get me on a plane. When I saw you holding Briony, when I heard you talking about travel, and babies, and all of your dreams, I knew that it couldn’t be me.” 

Bucky understands fear. He understands despair and panic and pain. He understands not being _whole._ And he understands the desperate way she is trying to hold it all together, to do the _right thing,_ even if it hurts. He hands her back the phone, catching her hand as she reaches for it. She comes to him, all but falling against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around her, holding her up, supporting her as the tears finally come. He doesn’t blame her; there are a few leaking from his eyes as well. 

“You should have told me. You should have let me have a choice.” He’s not surprised when his voice cracks.

She makes a sound that sounds kind of like a laugh. “You’re too noble for that. You would have stayed with me just because you would have felt bad for leaving.”

“I would have stayed because I love you.” 

Amelia pulls away, backpedaling several steps. Her heel finds a rock, and she falls. Her skirt twists up around her knees. She doesn’t notice at first, but he does. Thick scars run down and across her legs, with smaller lines intersecting. Some from attack; more exact lines from the surgeries that followed. If the upper half of her legs looks like the lower, it’s a miracle that she survived. 

The idea that he might have lost her years before he found her terrifies him. He wants to gather her into his arms and reassure himself that she is okay, that she is still with him. It’s irrational, but can’t shake the urge to reach out. He kneels beside her.

“Are you okay?” 

She looks up, sees his gaze dip again to her legs, and quickly fixes her skirts. “Fine.” She stands, ignoring the hand he holds out. He notices the bright red stain on her cheeks, and it makes him angry. 

“You think I mind scars? Is that what this is?” 

“Bucky, don’t.” 

“You- You told me that my arm didn’t make me any less. That my scars meant that I had survived, that I was stronger and braver than had ever given myself credit for. Did you mean any of it?” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he is angry. He is hurt. How long had she been suffering in silence? How dare she leave without giving him a chance to fight for her? For them? 

“There’s a difference between fighting and surviving and having the dumb luck to not get crushed! You fought for yours. They show that you survived! And that you kept surviving! Mine just mean that I didn’t have the good sense to die.” 

He stills. “Is that really what you think?” 

“I did, for a long time. And then it was just because people don’t like a reminder, so I kept my scars to myself. But, everything I touch falls apart. And the last time I went to have my legs checked, it wasn’t good. The pain is getting worse, and there are signs of atrophy. I’m looking at another round of surgeries to try to fix it again, but there may come a point when they just can’t anymore.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything before this? Do the others know, or are you hiding all of this from them, too?” 

“Tony knows. As for everyone else, well, I was hoping to avoid this conversation.”

He nods. “So instead you pulled away. Moved halfway across the country. Hiding out from everything you knew, because that was better than giving us a chance and letting us, what, disappoint you? Is that really what you think of us?” 

“No! I just--” She breaks off with a helpless gesture. “You’re all human-plus. Enhanced. It’s hard to keep up with you all already. I don’t want to be that friend. And if no one knows, then I can’t be.” 

He walks up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Probably. This doesn’t change anything, Bucky. It can’t. I’m coming back here after New Years. This is my home now.”

“I- I know.” 

“Okay. Good.” She pauses. “For what it’s worth, I wish things were different.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just holds her a little bit tighter. He didn’t know, but he should have. There were little things that he never even thought to question. He’s never seen her in shorts, or any pants, dresses, or skirts that displayed her legs. She might dance a few songs, but would sit down after, probably because her legs hurt. Even just a few days ago, while the rest of the team was enjoying the hot springs, she sat outside with Tony, rather than get into a swimsuit with them, even in the dark. Everything added up, and he didn’t see any of it. Didn’t see the pain and fear she hid from them. She was so busy holding him together that he’d never questioned. If she didn’t talk about her past, then that was okay, because they all had stuff they didn’t talk about.

He’d failed her. He let her push him away rather than fight for her, and she’d left to face everything alone. He can’t fix the past, but there’s nothing that will stop him from being there for her now.

“I’m moving out here.” 

Amelia pulls back, giving him an incredulous look. “What?” 

“I’m moving out here. It’s the only way to keep you safe, and whatever happens, I’ll be here for it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Bucky, no. I appreciate it, but I’m okay. I promise. And Steve needs you in New York. They all do. Just, maybe come visit once in awhile, alright?” 

“Amelia, you shouldn’t--” 

“I shouldn’t what? Be alone out here? Come on, Bucky. This is exactly why I never told anyone! I have friends out here. I’m doing alright. Some days? It sucks. Most days it doesn’t. But what I don’t need is you out here trying to solve all of my problems. I can handle this, okay? What I need from you is support, not a nursemaid.” 

He looks down, meeting her insistent gaze. “I don’t want to lose you, doll.” 

Her expression softens. “I know. And you won’t. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.”

“Where do we go from here?”

Amelia laughs. “I don’t know. I- I care for you, too.” (She won’t say love. Not yet. Not after everything.) “But I don’t think we’re in a place to act on that. I mean, yesterday, you thought you were in love with a H-” She catches herself. “With Heather.” 

“I- I didn’t love her,” he admits softly. “I wanted to. I tried.” 

“The point remains. We need time to sort through all of this. I don’t want to rush into things.” 

***

_I don’t want to rush into things._ Bucky isn’t sure if he’s going to laugh or cry. The problem is, he knows she’s right. Yesterday at this time, he was in a serious relationship with a HYDRA agent, bent on taking him back under their control. And today, well… He can see what sharing her secret cost Amelia. The exhaustion and wariness is plain on her features. 

He wants to tilt her head up, kiss her softly, and promise to wait for as long as it takes. God knows, she’s worth it. And the fact that she doesn’t hate him, that she’s still willing to even consider it after everything she’s gone through because of him, is a miracle. 

“Waiting is probably a good idea. Let’s do this right. But, doll, you’re worth waiting for. I’m not going anywhere.” 

She looks up at him, and the sheer relief in her eyes makes him want to cry. He tucks her hair back behind her ears, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s head back. I don’t want the Steve to worry.” 

She leans into his touch, and then steps back. “Yeah, probably a good idea.” 

Bucky nods, follows her down the path, never straying too far away, ready to sweep in should she start to fall or misstep. And he knows she doesn’t need it, but it’s hard to know what he knows now and just go back to pretending everything is normal. 

There’s a lot to think through. A lot to adjust to. She’s been his rock for so long, hiding all of her own struggles in the process. But none of it matters, not really. Whatever her future holds, he’s determined to be there in any way that she’ll let him.


	37. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team heads home to New York for New Year's Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and happy November! 
> 
> November means NaNoWriMo, and this year, my goal is to finish Broken Chances. I have four chapters left after this, all partially written. Over the next four weeks, I'm going to get this monstrosity of a fic wrapped up, but spread the posting out through the end of December. 
> 
> And then I'm taking a couple months to start work on the sequel. You're going to love it. I have the first chapter mostly done, and a few other key scenes worked out, and I have laughed so hard writing it. It's a little bit lighter, and a lot shorter (probably) than Broken Chances, and it focuses on Bucky and Amelia learning how to make it work in their new relationship, with all of the changes going on in the world around them. We'll see Ultron, and I'm bringing in some of my other favorite Marvel characters. It's going to be good, guys. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting. Your comments absolutely make my world a better, happier place. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Two days after Christmas, the team packs and loads up the SUVs for the trip back to the airport, all except Steve, Bucky, and Amelia. They put their stuff into the back of Amelia’s truck and set out to drive the distance to New York. 

It’s still crowded with all three of them sitting in the cab, with only the one bench seat, but by that point, the closeness is the only way they’re all holding it together. 

It still hurts for Steve to move too much, and he tires easily as his body puts energy into the rapid healing. Still, he takes the first driving shift, heading out towards the highway by eight AM. Amelia sits in the middle, and Steve pretends he doesn’t see the way that Bucky and her are holding hands, but truthfully, he isn’t surprised. Bucky has always needed her; he wasn’t lying when he told Amelia that. And he thinks that Amelia needs him just as much. 

It’s nice, seeing them both finally moving in the right direction.

The drive is quiet at first, everyone still somber over the events of the past few days. Bucky is quieter than he was before, and Steve hates watching him struggle. 

After a while, Amelia takes over the driving, and Bucky sits in the middle, trying to give Steve enough space to properly rest. By now, they have music playing softly over the radio, and cocooned so closely with his friends, Steve finally drifts off to sleep. 

***

Bucky looks at Steve, taking in the drawn look on his face. “I’m worried about him.” 

Amelia glances over to the sleeping super soldier, and then back to Bucky. “He’ll be alright.” 

“I don’t mean just the bullet wound.” He’s been out of sorts for the last several months. Nothing big, nothing that anyone else seems to notice, but it was like Steve was slowly losing a part of himself. Bucky had noticed, but it wasn’t until Steve got shot and pushed all self-preservation aside that he got scared.

“I know. Listen, whatever this is, we’ll get him through it.” 

He sets a hand on her knee, and she puts one of her hands over his. They drive that way in silence for the next hour, Steve sleeping beside them. It isn’t until they pull off at a truck stop that he jolts awake. 

“We’re just getting something to eat, Steve. You coming in?” Bucky asks. 

***

It takes three days to reach New York, staying overnight in small hotels, all sharing a room, and stopping at a few tourist attractions along the way, just for the sake of getting out and stretching. They spent a few hours hiking the mountains in Tennessee, and then cut across to the ocean for their final night, staying in a room with an ocean view. As soon as they checked in, Amelia was out the door, going to walk along the beach. Bucky and Steve locked up, and then ran to catch up with her. They spent the evening running through the waves barefoot, worries in Arkansas left behind for a short while, before finding a seafood shack for dinner. 

They get their food to go and take it back to the hotel room, spreading it out across one of the beds. The days of traveling have taken some of the weariness from Steve’s face, and as he leans back against the headboard with a small carton of fries, teasing Amelia about something or another, Bucky can’t help but notice the way his smile is a little freer, too. 

They walk down to the beach again, just as the sun sets. Bucky wants to reach for Amelia’s hand, but isn’t sure how welcome it would be, so he settles for just staying close. And then Amelia solves the issue for him by reaching for his hand, taking it in hers as they walked along the sand. 

He glances over, and sees that she’s also holding Steve’s hand, and there’s something so vulnerable in Steve’s gaze that Bucky has to look away. When he looks back, the expression is gone. He would have thought he imagined it, had it not been so clear. 

“There’s nothing like this in Arkansas,” Amelia says, her voice barely louder than the waves. And Bucky’s not entirely sure that she’s talking about the ocean, because he thinks that maybe she’s talking about them. 

“I miss it, too,” he responds, and there’s understanding in the way she squeezes his hand. 

***

Later that night, Amelia is pulled from her sleep by Bucky’s stuttering breath. She can feel the way his muscles tremble as he fights through a nightmare, eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids.

“Bucky.” She says his name quietly, as she sets a hand on his, trying to wake him without disturbing Steve. 

It doesn’t work. Super hearing in a small hotel room. Steve is across the room before Amelia even realizes he’s awake. 

“Bucky, wake up. You’re okay,” Amelia says, a little louder this time. Finally, Bucky wakes, a sob half stuck in his throat. Frantic hands grip the sheets, and his chest heaves as he tries to breathe. 

“Buck? Are you back with us?” Steve asks, still standing a foot or two from the bed. 

“Steve.” Bucky mumbles his name as he looks up at him, and then his gaze moves to Amelia. Shaking, he reaches for her, fingers tracing along her waist. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “I thought-- I-- She hurt you.”

“It’s over. It’s done. I’m okay. We all are,” Amelia reminds him. 

He nods, the sob finally working its way out. Amelia kneels beside him, arms going around his shoulders. He clings to her, face pressed against her neck, body trembling. Amelia glances over his shoulder, seeing Steve still standing there, and she holds out one hand, inviting him over. He hesitates, and then sits down on Bucky’s opposite side, strong arms wrapping around both of them. Amelia slips one hand free to set against his upper back. Bucky wraps one hand around Steve’s arm, holding to his friend. 

“I’ve got you,” Steve promises. “You’re safe.”

***

_Bucky was back along the trail, Steve and Heather walking nearby, when he sees a splash of red along the ground, dyeing the grass and fallen leaves. He rushes ahead, the others close behind him, already knowing what he was going to find. Still, seeing Amelia laying in the clearing, curled onto her side, fingers clenched and covered in blood from where she’d tried to slow the blood flowing from her side. Her eyes are open even in death, pain written on her features. He drops beside her, reaching, shaking hands seeking a pulse, knowing that he wouldn’t find one._

_A gun goes off behind him. He turns in time to see Steve fall. Then he’s following Heather down to the house, mind screaming as his body follows orders that are not his own. He fights back, but can’t stop the attack on the rest of the Avengers._

_The dream skips ahead, and he’s back at a Hydra base, being forced towards the chair. Metal clamps down around his wrists and legs. He wants to scream out, but nothing comes._

_And then he’s waking, safe in a hotel room, Amelia and Steve beside him, and the relief is more than he can handle. In moments, he’s wrapped tightly in their arms, soothing words and touches soothing away the terror._

***

They arrive in New York just before dinner on December 29th, tired and glad to be back at the Tower. Pepper orders in enough food to feed the entire team, which leads to a group movie night to watch Love Actually (and if half of the team sniffles a bit at the opening and closing monologues, no one says a word). Finally, exhausted, everyone shuffles off to their beds. The next day was the Stark New Year’s Eve party, and they’d all need to be well-rested to handle the crowds.

Amelia brushes her teeth, puts on a nightgown, and slips into bed. She’s nearly asleep when she feels more than hears her bedroom door open. In the dim light of the lamp, she sees Bucky standing there, unsure as he rubs distractedly at his arm. 

“Can I come in?” he asks, words hesitant. They had slept beside each other since Christmas Eve, half out of practicality with the small number of beds in the various hotels since they had to leave her home. But here, where they both had their own beds, in their own rooms, Amelia hadn’t been sure that he’d still want to sleep beside her. When he went to his own room after the movie, it seemed to confirm her opinion. He wasn’t ready yet, not after everything.

But here he was.

Amelia slides over, giving him space beside her. “Yeah.” 

He shuffles over to the bed, and she pulls back the covers. He slips in beside her, and after a moment, his arm goes around her waist, and she turns to face him. He rests his head against her shoulder, huffing softly as he settles. 

“So glad you’re home, doll,” he mumbles, as he slips into sleep, lulled by the feeling of her hand running through his hair. She keeps the movement up for another few minutes, before her eyes drift closed and she follows him into slumber. 

***

The next morning, Amelia heads out to visit a few favorite places around the city, an outing that invariably ends at a little dinner a half-dozen blocks from the tower. She takes a booth near the back, facing the door (the teams’ habits were rubbing off on her), and proceeds to order her meal.

Service is quick, and before long, she’s happily eating while browsing through her phone, at least until a shadow moves over her table. Seconds later, Phil Coulson sits down across from her. His lips twist up in a tiny smirk, watching her for a reaction. She just blinks. 

“If you’re here because I haven’t brought ‘round flowers in a few months, you should know that I moved out of town. I can stop over with roses after I finish my fries, though.” 

He laughs. “I do appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think it will be necessary. Finish up. We need to talk, and we can’t do it here.” He swipes a fry, dipping it into a generous mound of ketchup, and then pops it into his mouth. “Mmm. You know, it’s the little things you miss.” 

“...in the afterlife?” She’s barely hiding her smile. 

He grins, lifting his eyebrows, and then steals another fry. “Actually, I’m going to get some to go. And do they still make the onion and egg cheeseburgers?” 

A waitress comes over, and he places a sizable order. By the time his order is ready, Amelia’s finished and ready to go. He grabs his bags, and leads her out to the waiting red car. The food goes into the trunk, and they take off. 

“Everything you’re going to see and hear is strictly classified. Before we go any further, I need your assurance that you won’t tell anyone, not even the Avengers.” 

She turns slightly in her seat, watching him. “To be honest, that’s going to depend on what you’re telling me. The last any of us heard, you were dead, and SHIELD was no more. If you’re doing anything that will put people in danger, I want no part of it.” 

A small smile crossed his face. “That was the right response. Good. Obviously, there’s a limit to what I can tell you. What happened in SHIELD-- It was bad. But there are still some of us out there trying to make things right.” 

“So, not to sound unhappy to see you, but why are you telling me this?” 

“We need your help.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Mine?” 

“We need a place to rebuild. The land behind yours was available. Also, you run comms for the Avengers and you’re not intimidated by what that lifestyle entails.” 

“Hold up. Rewind a bit. You bought the land behind mine?” 

“Strategic move. Those of us now in charge are learning from past mistakes. We’re starting small, and putting more of an emphasis on making sure that we’re putting the right people in the right rolls. And once we have them, we’re trying to take better care of them. And that’s where you come in.” 

***

He drops her off a few blocks from the tower with a business card listing his phone number and a request that she call as soon as she made up her mind about how involved she wants to be. But, really, if Shield is moving in next door, and Coulson is in charge, she was probably going to do whatever was needed. Shield, she doesn’t trust. Coulson? She trusts him completely. Has since about four months before his death.

Or supposed death, rather. 

The man has a team now. He talks about them like they’re his family. To Coulson, they probably are. 

She walks into the tower and goes up the elevator, the whole time trying to wrap her head around the conversation. If she accepted Coulson’s offer, it would change a lot of things. And not being able to bring the rest of the team in on it, at least not yet, made her uneasy. But, truthfully, if he could do what he was trying to do, it was going to be a good thing. 

Bucky and Steve are off at their weekly group meeting, something that they do every week, and sometimes more often, without fail, unless there is a mission keeping them away. They wouldn’t be back for another hour or two, and really, she could use some alone time to try to get her bearings. 

Unfortunately, sitting there isn’t doing anything to help, and going it over and over again is starting to give her a headache, so she heads up to the community floor, hoping for a distraction.

Amelia is talking to Tony when the elevator door opens and Bucky walks in, a laundry basket of towels in his arms. Steve stands just behind him, carrying a half dozen shopping bags. 

“You know, we have linens here at the Tower,” Tony quips. “They’re provided for all of our residents. If you needed help finding them--” 

“Shut it, Stark.” Bucky walks over to the coffee table and slowly sets down the basket. Amelia watches as one of the towels starts to squirm. 

“Bucky, what--” She stands up, walking over. Bucky lifts one of the towels, unwraps it a bit, and hands it to her. 

“Careful,” he warns. 

Amelia looks down at her bundle, and into the face of a tiny rottweiler puppy. The puppy looks back, lazily yawning as it stretches a bit. “Bucky...” 

“There’s three of them. There’s a woman in our session that volunteers at the shelter, and she told us about them. They were dropped off a couple days ago, and they don’t have the volunteers to take care of a set of newborns. So, I thought, well, Steve and I were talking about getting a dog anyhow.” 

Amelia smiles, rubbing a finger along the puppy’s nose. “So you brought home three?” 

“One for each of us.” 

Amelia looks up at him, eyes wide. “You got me a puppy?” 

Bucky grins. “Think of it as a guard dog starter kit. Steve and I already picked up everything we need. While you’re still here, we can take shifts. The ladies down at the shelter explained it all to us.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to pets in the Tower,” Tony grumps as he walks over to peek in the basket. One of the puppies gave a little whimper, and he reaches in, carefully lifting it out. It blinks lazily at him and licks at his fingers. 

Tony sighs, and puts it back down. “I’m not helping you clean up after them,” he says, shaking his head as he leaves the room. 

“Bucky, they’re so small.” 

“They’ll be alright. Just need someone to take care of them. And, well, who better than us, right?” 

Amelia looks to Steve, who gives her a tired smile. She walks over, cuddling the puppy in one hand as she gives him a one-armed hug. “These little guys are lucky you two came along.” 

He glances down and settles a heavy arm on her shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. 

The puppy in her hands yawns again, and the snuggles deeper into the towel, falling asleep. 

“We should get them situated before they wake up. They’ll need to eat again soon,” Steve explains, letting his arm fall back to his side and grabbing the supplies. Amy puts her puppy back into the basket, and takes some of the supplies from him, helping to carry as they both follow Bucky down to their floor. Puppy Central is Steve’s living room, as they set out a sleeping area (complete with a heat pad, to keep the babies warm), the formula and bottles, and other necessities. 

It doesn’t take long before the puppies are waking back up, looking for food. Steve shows her how to mix the formula just so, and then they all sit on the oversized couch, a puppy in one hand and a tiny bottle in the other. 

“They’re going to need names,” Amelia says, as her puppy finishes eating. 

Bucky lifts his puppy up, considering. “Stella. She looks like a Stella.” 

Steve considers the tiny puppy in his hands. “Gracie,” he says softly. 

Amelia’s puppy lets out a little whine, and snuggles up in her palm. Apparently, they were going with classic names. She could work with that. 

Her little puppy, the only boy of the litter, had a dot of brown fur near his nose, and a white tip on his tail. He rolls over, looking up at her, and one of his floppy ears flips around inside out. He huffs, and shakes his head. Amelia laughs and straightens it out. “Cooper. I think he’s a Cooper.” 

“Stella, Gracie, and Cooper,” Steve echoes back to them. “Strong names for strong pups.” 

“They’ll need them,” Amelia comments, as Cooper nuzzles against her fingers. They put the sleepy puppies back into their little basket after Steve puts the heating pad beneath a layer or two of blankets, and settle on the couch. They had a long day ahead of them, until they worked out a schedule for the pups’ care.

For now, they kept a watchful eye over their young charges while catching up on some movies, eventually having dinner ordered in and splitting up the night care schedule.

*** 

Bucky wakes up on New Year’s Eve curled up with Amelia pulled tight against him. She’s still sound asleep, so he slips out from under the covers and makes his way out of the bedroom. He brushes his teeth, splashes some water on his face, and pads across the hall to relieve Steve of puppy duty. 

Steve is sounds asleep with an empty bottle in one hand, and Gracie sleeping on his lap. Bucky smiles the sight, scooping up the puppy and depositing her in the basket with her siblings before grabbing a blanket to cover the sleeping super soldier. And then he returns to Amelia’s apartment, setting the basket down near the kitchen windows.

Snow is falling over the city, big fluffy flakes drifting down past the glass. He gets coffee going and starts pulling out the supplies for waffles. It was going to be a long day, ending in Tony’s New Year’s Eve ball that evening. 

He’s just finishing up breakfast when Amelia wanders in, wearing a thick robe and fuzzy slippers, just like she wore on the night they met. 

“Morning,” she says, smiling softly. 

“Morning, doll. Ready for breakfast?” She’s leaving again in a couple days, heading back to Arkansas. He doesn’t know when he’ll see her again next. A month? More? After the last two weeks, he wants her here more than ever. 

But she has a life out there, and she’s happier away from the city, and he won’t take that away from her, not knowing all that she’s been through here. So he’ll miss her, but he’ll bide his time until they can find a way to make it work. 

In the meantime, he’ll make breakfast and do his best not to let her leave with any doubt to the way he cares for her. 

***

“This is ridiculous.” 

Natasha gave her an appraising look. “That dress was practically made for you. It’s perfect.” 

“It’s going to fall off,” she responds, tugging at the front. She avoided strapless dresses for just this reason; one wrong move, and the whole party would see a whole lot more than just her bare shoulders.

Natasha bats her hands away. “Stop. Leave it alone, and it will be fine. If not,” she shrugs, “we’ll tape it.” 

Amelia winces, imagining sticking tape across her sensitive breasts. “Uh, are you sure I can’t wear a different dress?”

“No.” 

She sighs, and goes to tug at the front again, but Natasha’s glare stops her. “Fine.” She slips on her shoes, and sits down to let Nat start messing with her hair. Pepper was sitting on the loveseat, already immaculately dressed. Darcy was putting on her makeup, while Jane scratched out some notes on a small pad of paper. It was 7:30, and they should have been ready by now, but then Natasha insisted on being fashionably late. Pepper agreed; passing around another round of wine. 

***

Bucky glanced at his watch. 8:15. The girls were running late. He shifted a bit, straightening his jacket, and jumping a bit when a big, heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. 

“Relax, Sergeant. The women will be here soon. Being late is tradition on Midgard, is it not?”

“He’s right, Buck. They’ll be here any minute.” 

As if that was their cue, the door opens and the women start filing their way into the room. Amelia is the last in, hanging back a bit while the men appropriately gush over everyone else. She’s wearing a sleeveless gown. The top was tight and sequined with the bottom flowing out around her ankles. Dark hair was pulled carefully up and away from her face, highlighting her fine bone structure. Bucky crosses the room on trembling knees, stopping a few feet shy of her. 

How many times had he teased Steve for growing anxious around dames? How many times had he tried to hide a smirk while Steve fumbled through a conversation? And here he was, his tongue turning to cotton in his mouth, making it nearly impossible to speak. 

It didn’t help that he’d been nervous all day. Thank god for the serum, because he damn near tore his face to pieces trying to shave earlier. It took nearly an hour of trying to decide between dress shirts before Sam gave him hell for it. Steve just gave him a knowing look. 

Bastard.

He looks down at Amelia, and he takes in a quick breath.“You’re breathtaking, doll.”

She beams. “You’re not too bad yourself. Look at you, all cleaned up.” She reaches out, soft fingers dancing against his jawline.

Butterflies churn in his stomach. “I was hoping I might get a pretty girl to dance with me. What do you think?” 

“Well, I think you’d have to ask her first.”

He offers her his arm, and she takes it, slipping her slender arm through his. He leads her over to their seats, pulling her chair out so she could sit down, and then taking the place beside her. 

Once everyone has taken their seats, Tony steps up to a microphone on the stage and thanks everyone for coming. There are at least a hundred people in attendance, more than Bucky is comfortable with, but with Amelia at his side (and Steve at his other), he’s doing alright.

After dinner comes the dancing. Amelia lets him lead her out to the dance floor, keeping up with the steps as he takes them through some more modern dance moves. He’s been practicing, whenever there was no one else around. 

They dance a few songs, and then he takes her hand, leading her to a quiet area. “Holding up alright?” 

She shrugs. “I’m alright. But thank you for checking.” 

He gives her a little smile in response. It worries him, now, the thought of her hurting from spending too much time on her feet. And he knows that three days of travel, complete with hiking and the time on the beach, plus whatever she was up to earlier, might have been enough to aggravate her legs. 

The last thing he wants is to cause her any pain. 

He sets his arm along her waist, fingers resting lightly on her hip as he looks out over the crowd. Tony and Pepper are talking to some rich-looking business types. Clint and Natasha are hanging out at the bar. The others are scattered around, including Steve, who was being dragged around the dance floor by Darcy. He pointed it out to Amelia, who grins up at him in response. 

He grabs them each a drink and they go back to sit down at their chairs. A waiter comes around with desserts a short time later. They spend the next few hours enjoying time with their friends, dancing, and trying to avoid anyone who gets too close. 

As the clock draws closer to midnight, she draws him away to a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. The crowd starts to count down, and he turns towards her, eyes meeting hers, silently asking permission. 

_Three, two, one…_

The crowd cheers, and fireworks go off in the background. Amelia steps forward, closing the space between them. He runs his fingers along her cheek, tilting her jaw up to the right angle before leaning his head down towards her. She slips her arms around his neck, meeting his lips. They move softly against him, and then she presses closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue runs along her lower lip before finding hers. The kiss becomes something stronger, more insistent. He runs one hand down her arm and then traces fingers along her side, bringing his hand to rest on her hip, inching her just a few centimeters closer, until there is no more space between them. 

He breathes in the light scent of perfume and shampoo. He can taste champagne on her lips. She has one hand on the back of his neck, fingers twisting gently in his hair, and her other hand holding to his upper arm, slowly working across his back as the kiss continues. 

Desire spirals through him, and he pushes it down, afraid to give in, afraid to let her know how badly he needs her, especially in the light of everything that’s happened between them. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, like each touch went deeper than skin, brushing along his soul, opening every part of him to her touch. Laying him bare, every part of who he is splayed out for her to see. 

That should terrify him. 

It doesn’t. No secrets. Nothing hidden. She’s always seen past every wall he’s ever put up anyhow. And instead of feeling exposed, he feels comforted by the thought that she’s seen all he has, and still stands at his side. 

Still stands before him, soft sounds of desire escaping her lips as they kiss. 

_“Amelia.”_ He whispers her name as he breaks the kiss, stepping back. “We have to stop. We--” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. We can’t.” 

She nods. Her lips are darker, plump from their kiss, and it’s all he can do to not step forward and claim them again. God, does he want to. 

“I know. I know. We--” She lets out a shaky little laugh. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.” 

“You, too,” he says, stepping a bit closer, pulling her into a hug. “Happy New Year, Amelia.” 

“Happy New Year, Bucky.” She looks up, giving him a hesitant little smile. “I think this is going to be an amazing year.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah? I think you’re right, as long as you’re still at my side at the end of it.” 

She sets her head back against his shoulder, arms wrapping tighter around his waist before she responds. “There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.”


	38. February Is for Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. Thank you for sticking around for this, slow updates and all.
> 
> I'm introducing Coulson's team in this chapter, with a few changes. I should probably explain that I didn't watch Shield much past the second season. Life got hectic, and I keep meaning to go back and watch them all, but trying to find the time right now is nearly impossible. So, this is *my* version of Shield. Tripp is there (because I love him), and I added in a new member- Carmin Scott. You're going to like her; I can tell. 
> 
> If you've never watched Shield, that's fine. The team doesn't play a huge role until the sequel, and you'll get to know them all as we go along. 
> 
> The next chapter is short. It's Bucky's birthday chapter, it's nearly done, and it will be up on March 10th. It's being released as part of MARVELous March, a month-long artistic celebration of prompts for writers, artists, and anyone else who wants to join in. You can learn more (and join in!) here: [MARVELous March](http://amethystflame.tumblr.com/post/170441740368/its-going-to-be-a-marvelous-march-okay-its-a)
> 
> (And I'm really close to having the rest of the story done, too. Finally.)

Amelia has been home for two weeks when there’s a knock on her door. She peeks out the window, seeing Coulson standing there, a group of people behind him. 

“You’re late,” she comments, opening the door and stepping back. “I expected you a week ago.”

“Ran into a situation near the coast of Italy,” he explains. “We got here as soon as we could.” 

“I’m glad you made it. Come on in, guys.” 

They follow her into the living room, and she hands out drinks. “Amy, I’d like you to meet my team. Daisy Johnson, Melinda May, Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Antoine Triplett, and finally, Carmin Scott.” He pauses. “They already know about you.” 

Amelia gives a crooked little grin. “I figured. It’s great to meet you, guys. Make yourselves at home. How’s construction coming along?”

“The temporary living quarters are almost done,” Daisy responds, as she looks around the living room. “It’ll be great to sleep in a real bed again, not one on the Bus.” 

The Bus was Coulson’s name for his oversized jet-slash-mobile headquarters. The thing was ridiculously huge, and likely parked in some back field somewhere, stealth mode turned on to keep it hidden. He’d told her about it, along with the impracticalities of using it as their permanent space, while in New York. 

For the time being, the team would be splitting their time between the bus and her home, a decision made as soon as she agreed to this whole thing. SHIELD would operate, at least partially, out of the property behind hers, creating not only a new hub for regular operations, but also an advanced R&R facility, a place where agents could go to take time away from the field, with care created to meet their needs. 

It was going to be a good thing. And she was going to be a part of it, mostly due to the fact that she had years of practice and the space available. Tony used to tease her about how she took on the role of the care and keeping of superheroes, and here she was, putting that experience to use. If nothing else, it would give agents a place to come back to, a safe sanctuary with a home-cooked meal.

In the meantime, she would have a half dozen SHIELD agents sleeping in her spare rooms. 

And Coulson might not ever admit it, but she was willing to bet that HYDRA showing up on her doorstep might have something to do with the timing of this project.

***

“You know, I grew up hearing stories about Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers.” 

Amelia glances over. Tripp is leaning over the railing, staring out at the sunset. She wandered out here after dinner; he joined her about five minutes ago, standing only a few feet away. He turns his head towards her, giving her a little half smile. 

“If this is one of those weird things like Coulson…” Months after his death, Natasha pulled up the video of Coulson’s awkward first conversation with Cap. It was bittersweet to watch, but quickly turned into all of them teasing Steve about the whole thing.

He laughs. “No. No, umm,” he glances out again. “Gabe Jones was my grandfather.” 

“Gabe Jones. _The_ Gabe Jones?” 

“That’d be the one.” 

Amelia chuckles. “No kidding.” 

“Not a lot of people know. With Shield, well… I didn’t want to be treated any different.” 

“Yeah, I get that. When you meet the guys, are you going to tell them?” 

Tripp shrugs. “Eventually.” 

“I’m glad. It’ll mean a lot to them, knowing that Gabe’s legacy is still going strong. They miss the rest of their team, you know?” She pauses. “But they’ll get that you aren’t him. I mean, they’re competing with everyone else’s opinions of who they should be, so they understand what it’s like to be in that kind of situation.” 

“Yeah, it ain’t easy. That’s what’s good about Coulson’s team, though. No one in there cares who I am. They care about what I bring to the table, and that’s good enough for me.” 

“Coulson’s a good guy.” 

“I heard that,” the man in question comments, walking out to join them.

“Speaking of the devil,” Tripp jokes. “Kudos to you for bringing us out here. It’s nice to be in a real house for a while, not in a warehouse or flying office building.” 

“What’s wrong with the Bus?” 

“Nothing, for the first few weeks.” 

“Well, that’s what we’re doing here. Putting down roots for a bit.” 

“SHIELD Bed and Breakfast.” 

“With training and office space.” 

“And labs,” Trip adds.

“The name might need some refinement,” Coulson comments. “I was thinking, maybe SHIELD Recovery. Or Harbor.” 

“Sanctuary?” Amelia offers. 

“Hmm. We have time to figure it out.” Coulson steps around them and starts down the steps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised May I’d get first patrol.” 

“Tony has this place as secure as it’s ever going to be,” she reminds him. 

“Maybe, but it doesn’t hurt to take a few days to get to know the property. And I could use some fresh air.”

Coulson heads off towards the far end of the property. Trip shakes his head. “We’re all feeling a bit cooped up lately.”

“I’d gladly get you all started on some chores around here,” Amy teases. 

Tripp laughs. “Not that cooped up, thanks. None of my training prepared me for taking care of cows.” 

“They’re bulls, and they’re easy. You feed them, scratch beneath their necks, and keep a sweet or two in your pocket, and you’ll do fine.” 

“Maybe someday. But probably not.” 

***

She finishes getting the team settled, warning them to keep quiet for a bit, before slipping off to her room. She sits down at the small table near the window, opens up her laptop, and calls Bucky on Skype (hastily fixing her hair while waiting for it to connect). 

The video flashes up on the screen, Bucky smiling down at her, hair falling around his face as he looks into his phone. 

“Hi, doll.” 

“Hey. Is this a good time?” 

He opens his mouth to answer just as the phone is turned away, Tony coming into view. “Hey, kid. Jarvis-- put her up on the screen.” 

There’s a brief second where the screen goes black, and then she’s seeing the whole team sitting there. Tablets, laptops, and half-empty boxes of pizza cover the table.

“Sorry-- didn’t mean to interrupt team bonding.” 

Clint laughs. “We weren’t exactly bonding; just going over some files we scooped up from the latest HYDRA raid.” 

“Any progress?” 

“Nothing useful,” Natasha provides. “But we’re hoping something might turn up.” She casts a glance towards Bucky as she says it. They were hoping something in the files would jog his memory and provide something they could use. 

“Do you want me to call back later, or tomorrow maybe?” 

Bucky shook his head. “I can spare some time. Jarvis, send her back to my phone, please.” Within moments, she was back to seeing just Bucky on the screen, watching as he stood up and walked out to the hallway. “Sorry about that,” he says, as he comes to a stop in another room. "I was hoping to be done a while ago.” 

“It’s fine. It was good to see everyone.” 

“Well, the next time we’re pouring over files and eating pizza, I’ll be sure to invite you.” 

Amelia rolls her eyes. “You could send some of the files to me, and I could order my own pizza. I can pull the video feed up in my office, and it would be just like being there. Kind of.” She pauses and shrugs. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t say no.” 

Bucky nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. An extra set of eyes would help us all get out through it faster.” 

“And cut short bonding time?” she teases. 

“If they want to bond, I can think of a dozen better options.” He shakes his head. “Enough talk about work. Tell me about your day.” 

There’s no way she can tell him the truth--not yet--so she talks about the farm and how she went to a birthday party for Rhett’s kid a couple days ago, and how Mrs. Gretsch from two miles up the road stopped by yesterday with a pie, and wanted to know how tall that “handsome Avenger boyfriend” of hers was, because she saw a news piece on his history, and she, along with some of the other women from her church, wanted to make him a quilt.

“They really don’t need to do that,” he protests, but his eyes are misting up with emotion. 

“Mrs. Gretsch is eighty-five years old, and I’m a little terrified of telling her ‘no’,” Amelia says. “Her and her group of old biddies all but run this town. Even the mayor shows deference. It’s like a gang of octogenarians.” She grins. “Probably why they like you so much.” 

“Hey!” 

 

But he smiles when he says it, and Amelia knows that the quilt will take up space on his bed. She nearly hugged the older woman when she mentioned it. Seeing the rest of the world start to come around and appreciate him was exactly what he deserved. 

“Wait-- She called me your boyfriend?” 

“I tried correcting her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it.” And, secretly, Amelia didn’t mind too much. 

“Well, hopefully she won’t be wrong for that much longer.” 

“Bucky--” 

“I know. I know all of the reasons why we’re waiting. I repeat them to myself every day. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you, or wish things were different.” 

“This isn’t forever.” She says it to remind him, but it feels like she’s reminding herself, too.

He nods. “I’m holding you to that, doll.” The look of promise in his eyes when he says it, so open and sincere, leaves her breathless. 

***

Bucky tosses his bag over his shoulders and walks up to the front door. It’s been six weeks since he last saw her, but it’s Valentine’s day, and he’d gladly go anywhere to be with her, if only for a day. And there was no way he was going to skip this.

He runs up the steps, and knocks. And then he waits. And then he knocks again. The sun was rising in the sky as he was landing the jet, just in a neighboring field, so she wouldn’t see him coming, ruining the surprise. She should be up, and her truck was sitting in the driveway, so she was definitely here.

Amelia finally comes around from over by the barn, pausing briefly when she sees him. “Bucky? What are you doing here?” 

He jogs down the steps, and holds out the bouquet. “Hi.” He’s blushing. Why the hell is he blushing? 

“Uhm--” Her eyebrows draw in, forehead wrinkling as she looks up at him.

“They’re for you, Amelia.” 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I just-- What are you doing here? Is everyone okay? Are you okay?” 

He blinks. “Yeah, doll. Everyone is fine.” A thought occurs to him. “What’s today’s date?” 

Amelia looks confused, and then pulls out her phone to check. “February...14th. It’s Valentine’s Day?” She looks up at him and then down at the flowers, understanding slowly dawning on her face. “Oh.” 

Bucky refrains from groaning. Barely. This was not now he pictured this going. “Yes, it’s Valentine’s day.” 

“But-- You came all the way out here?” 

She looks so lost that he just shakes his head, settling an arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Come on, doll. Let’s go inside, okay?” 

He leads her in, and settles her into the kitchen. “Have you eaten yet?” He knows the answer by the lack of dirty dishes in the sink. She just shakes her head mutely. He glances over to the fridge, and then back to her. She’s staring at the flowers, and still looks only half with him. So, he moves over to stand in front of her, gently tilting her head up to look at him. 

“Are you okay, Amelia?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she responds. 

“Not good enough. Talk to me. Did I do something wrong?” 

She shakes her head. “No. No, Bucky. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just.. I--” 

“Is it because of Valentine’s Day? Surely other guys have given you flowers.” 

“Uhm, no? Pretty sure you’re the first. And we’re not-- We agreed, Bucky. We needed time. You needed time.” 

“I know. But we never said I couldn’t buy flowers for the prettiest girl I know on Valentine’s Day. I mean, that’s kind of the whole point of the holiday, isn’t it?” He gives her a small smile, and is relieved when her lips quirk up a bit. 

“Yeah, but they don’t usually fly halfway across the country to hand deliver them.” 

“Well, I wanted to make sure that they made it on time,” he says with a smirk.

She laughs softly, leaning forward to set her head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here, Bucky.” 

He wraps her in his arms, and moves just a bit closer. The month and a half since they last saw each other felt like an eternity. He breathed her in, and felt weeks of tension start to ebb away. “Me, too, Doll. I’ve missed you.” 

The reunion is cut short by a tiny ball of fur barreling at them, jumping up against Bucky’s leg in an effort to be included. Bucky laughs, and reaches down to pick him up. 

“Hey, Cooper. Look at you!” 

The puppy eagerly licks his face. “Aww, I shoulda brought Stella with me. You two could have played.” 

“She’s with Steve?” 

“Yeah. Stella and Gracie are nearly inseparable.” He hands Cooper over to Amelia and washes his hands off in the sink. “You keep the furball company. I’ll make us both some breakfast.” 

“You just got here. Sit down. I’ll cook. I think I have everything we need for french toast. Please?” 

He hesitates, and then sits down as she stands up. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She gets a vase out for the flowers, and then starts pulling things out of the fridge. 

“So, how’s the quest for Loki’s scepter coming along?” 

Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh. “We’ve destroyed four HYDRA bases in the past six weeks. I thought I would have to beg Steve for break long enough to come down here, but I think everyone finally has him convinced to slow down a bit. He just wants it over and done with; we all do.” 

“I’m glad you were able to get away. Nice to have a day or two when I don’t have to worry about you guys.” She looks over as she says it, raising an eyebrow just a bit.

Bucky shrugs. “You could come visit us once in awhile. I bet Steve would stay home for that.” 

“Yeah? I’ll have to see what I can do.” 

“Good. The Tower’s never going to be the same without you.” 

She turns to look at him, a tiny smile playing on her lips. 

“I mean, poor Tony and Steve are a mess without you around.” 

She rolls her eyes and goes back to cooking. 

“It feels good, though, putting an end to all of this with HYDRA. I’m ready to put it behind me. All of it. If we can finish this, well,” he looks down, absently scratching behind Cooper’s ears, “maybe it’ll make up for some of the damage I’ve caused, you know?” 

She turns to look at him. “That wasn’t you, but I understand the sentiment. What are you going to do after?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he responds, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know if I still want to keep fighting, or if I just want the chance to have a life. Doing what, though? And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to watch Steve go out there without me.” 

“Maybe getting rid of Hydra will give Steve a reason to slow down a bit, too. He hasn’t stopped since we found out that Hydra was still a thing.” 

“I hope so. God, doll. He’s going to destroy himself if he doesn’t stop soon.” 

Amelia turns around. “Hey, we’re not going to let that happen. Does having Stella around help?” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. We’re looking into training programs for the pups, getting them certified as support animals. There are a few classes available in the city, and a lot of online resources, too. We’ve put some time looking into it.” 

“That’s great. I’m so proud of you. Of both of you.” She turns around, each hand holding a plate laden with food. “I hope you’re hungry.” 

“Famished.” 

***

She’d forgotten Valentine’s Day. She vaguely knew that it was coming up soon, but hadn’t given it much thought. Between the work being done over at the compound, her work for Tony, and trying to keep Cooper fed and healthy, she’d been so wrapped up that she’d lost track of time.

Until Bucky arrives on her porch, flowers in hand. She felt like an idiot. And to make it worse, she got emotional over it. But she couldn’t help it. He flew all this way to surprise her. Just like he called almost every day, unless he was on a mission, and sent her little pictures of what he was doing. He’d even sent a half-dozen handwritten notes, currently tucked in a fireproof box beneath her bed, along with some of her other treasures. 

He was so determined to make things work, to prove himself. And she loved every minute of it, even as it broke her heart, because she knew that some of it stemmed from him not feeling like he was enough. That if he skipped a step somewhere, it would all come crumbling down around him. 

So she wrote handwritten notes back (Steve had sent her a video of him getting one, goofy grin on his face), and sent pictures and text messages of her own. And she worked twice as hard on the SHIELD project, knowing that it would provide a safe place for other struggling agents to recover. It might not ever be enough to help Bucky, but it could help others, and she thinks that maybe he’ll appreciate that. 

And she video calls him. They’ve spent entire afternoons and evenings, screens open, as they go through their day, cooking dinner and eating together, chatting in bed late into the night. It’s not perfect, but it’s as close as they can get right now. 

And being able to share her life with him, no matter how far apart they are, makes the distance more bearable. 

But Valentines Day. With all of the chaos, she never gave it a second thought. They weren’t together, not really, and it had never occurred to her to plan for it. If she remembered, she would have called him before bed, but years and years of being alone for the holiday had gotten her to the point where it just didn’t matter any more.

It never occurred to her that he might come out, or that it would be anything more than just another day. She manages to slip away long enough to message Coulson’s team, currently looking into some disturbances in Los Angeles, asking to stay away until she texted them again to say otherwise, and dedicates herself to soaking up every moment with Bucky. 

***

After breakfast, they decide to go out for a hike in the hills. She talks him into driving across town to some state land, keeping him from seeing all of the signs of her recent guests. The weather is warm and the sun is shining, even if there is a bit of mud along the trails. They climb to the top of one of the higher hills, and from the highest point, can look out over a small lake. Bucky stops there, his arms around Amelia, her head leaning back against his shoulder, as they stare out at the water. 

It’s beautiful, the first hint of green starting to dot along the valley. He relaxes behind her, tension leaving his muscles. Amelia wraps her hands around his, intertwining their fingers, but doesn’t say a word. 

On the way down the hill, they pass a young family, out enjoying the pleasant weather. There’s an infant being worn in a front carrier, and a preschooler holding his dad’s hand as they work their way up one of the steeper slopes. The mom, rocking slightly to keep the infant from fussing, stops to greet them, recognizing Amelia. The women start talking about a new restaurant opening in town, so Bucky awkwardly introduces himself to the dad. 

“I’ve heard you all were in town over the holidays. Nasty mess, that. Lucky for us that you all were here.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Greg. And this little guy,” gesturing to the kids hanging off his arm, “is Carter. What do you say, Carter?” 

The little boy blinks shyly up at him. “Hello, sir.” 

Bucky feels a smile twitch along his lips. “Hello, Carter. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Carter lets go of his dad’s hand, wandering a few feet away to examine a tree stump. Greg keeps a practiced eye on him. “So, are we going to be seeing you around town, then?” 

Bucky glances over to Amelia. “Every now and then.” 

“Good. You know, Amelia moved out too late for it last year, but if you drive along the highway another fifteen or so miles, and then turn down Durkee road, we have a drive-in theater. It’s pretty popular out here in the summer. I don’t know if that was a thing or not when you were growing up, but it’s a popular choice for couples out here.” 

“Not a lot of drive-ins when I was growing up. Not many cars, either, at least, not in my neighborhood. But I’ve seen them in movies, a bit more recently. I’ll have to come out and take her. Thanks; I appreciate the tip.” 

“Any time. Maggie, my wife there, didn’t grow up here, either. It took her a few years to settle in. It doesn’t look like it from the outside, maybe, but Durwood Springs has a lot to offer.”

“I’m starting to see that, yeah.”

*** 

They return to town in the early afternoon, stopping into the diner for lunch. No one acts like they realize who he is--Winter Soldier or Avenger--but the waitress winks as she drops off a couple pieces of chocolate cake, on the house. Bucky looks utterly bewildered, but thanks her anyhow.

After their meal, they swing over to the town’s single grocery store, and Bucky pulls out a grocery list from his pocket, picking out everything he needs to make dinner. It’s a quick trip; in and out within twenty minutes, even with Amelia stopping to chat with two older women about the weather and some community event happening the next weekend. He stands back, listening to them talk, a strange feeling growing in his chest. 

It’s not until after, when they’re climbing into Amelia’s truck and pointing it back towards her home, that he realizes what that feeling was.

“This reminds me of home,” Bucky says, simply. 

“Sorry?” 

“People here know each other. And they take care of each other. The city feels bigger and busier than it did when I was growing up. Everyone is so suspicious of anyone that comes within ten feet of them. It’s not like that here. I noticed it over Christmas, but I didn’t understand what I was feeling. Not really. But this feels like where I grew up.”

The future, for all of his new friends, and Steve, and all of the wonder of New York, never quite felt right. He felt like he was still scrambling to find his footing, like living in a house of mirrors. Everything was just what it was supposed to be, but if you looked under the surface, things were all wrong. Like a twisted version of what he remembered. And people either shied away from the Winter Soldier, or acted like being an Avenger made him the most interesting person on the planet, unless one of the more exciting Avengers were in the room. It felt so ingenuine. He never knew exactly where he stood. 

But here, people took care of their neighbor, and no one cared about his past or treated him any differently because he worked with Captain America or Iron Man. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a person. A man. Nothing more. 

Just a guy lucky enough to spend time out here with the woman he loved. 

And he was surprised by how right it felt.

***

The afternoon sun is setting, casting the room in shadows. Bucky steps into the living room, quickly rearranging the furniture before calling her in. 

He turns on the music, walks across the room, and holds his hand out. “Dance with me, doll.” 

She sets her hand in his, and lets him lead her to an open space in the living room. His arms come around her, and she sets her head against his shoulder, swaying with him as the music plays. 

He spent a week picking out just the right songs, from his time and hers, and all of the years in between. Nothing too romantic, he didn’t want to overwhelm her, but songs that spoke to their budding romance. 

Jarvis had helped. Once Bucky had described what he wanted, the AI came up with a long list of possible titles, and they went through them one by one, waiting until Bucky was alone in his and Steve’s apartment, until he had the perfect songs prepared. As much as he valued Steve’s input, letting him help a Valentine’s Day playlist just felt a little too personal. 

He picked up a bouquet on the way to the airport, using one of Stark’s drivers instead of trying to keep the flowers safe on his bike. And the whole flight out, he felt butterflies stirring in his stomach. Nervous, but also so excited to see her. Needing her to sooth away the unease that had settled into his bones after too many missions in too short of a time. Needing her touch to remind him of what he was fighting for. 

Her hand strays up to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair with gentle fingers, nails barely scraping against his skin, and he shivers. 

They dance through several songs, and then he lifts her in his arms and settles them both onto the couch, settling her onto his lap as she laughs at his antics. She shifts, getting more comfortable, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. She grabs a remote from the side table and the lights dim.

“Are you staying tonight?” she asks, setting the remote back down. 

“If it’s okay.” 

“You’re always welcome here, Bucky, you know that.” 

His thumb brushes along her arm. “I’ve missed you, doll. I’ve missed knowing that you’re safe beside me when I sleep. That I’m close enough to reach out and touch you when I need you, and that you’re not in harm’s way, way out here on your own.” 

She turns her head, pressing a tiny kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

He angles his head down, catching her lips with his, feeling her shift slightly in his arms to gain better access. One hand finds the back of his neck again, pulling him closer. He willingly concedes, nipping playfully at her lips, and then running his tongue along her lower lip, asking for entrance. She deepens the kiss, lips opening slightly to allow him inside. 

His hand trails up her side, thumb grazing along one breast, and she makes a needy little noise low in her throat. Experimentally, he reaches out again, thumb resting against her nipple, then moving in a tight circle. She arches into his touch. Her free hand traces along the hem of his pants, and then slips beneath his shirt, soft fingers against his skin, teasing and exploring. She trails her nails along his ribs, and his breath catches, desire flooding him. 

Cursing mentally, he breaks the kiss, pulling back. “Jesus, Amelia. Keep touching me like that, and I’m going to forget that we need to wait.” 

She lets her head fall back, looking up at him through lidded eyes, her breath a touch too quick. “I know. Sorry.” 

“Nuh-uh. Don’t apologize. Not for that.” 

“Do you want to watch a movie, maybe?” 

Did he want to watch a movie? No. He wanted to pick back up where they just left off, keep going until he’d touched every inch of her, learning what made her cry out and what made her whimper with need. 

“Yeah. A distraction might be a good idea.” 

She grabs for the remote again, turning on Netflix. After a few minutes, they agree on a light-hearted coming-of-age story. She cuddles up against him, and he puts his arm over her shoulders, reveling in the feel of her beside him.

The movie ends, and she turns off the television and stands, holding her hand out for him. He entwines their fingers and follows her into the bedroom. He slips into a pair of flannel pants from his bag, slipping into them while Amelia is in the bathroom preparing for bed. She comes out wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a tshirt, and he goes in after her, quickly brushing his teeth and splashing some cold water on his face, before joining her in the bed.

She holds out her arm, inviting him into the space at her side.His head comes to rest over her heart, her fingers straying into his hair. 

“I’m really glad you’re here, Bucky. This has been the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.” 

“Mine, too,” he replies, honestly. 

He wants to stay awake late into the night, talking or even just watching her sleep beside him. It doesn’t happen like that. Within five minutes, he’s sound asleep, lulled by the beat of her heart and the feel of her hands along his scalp.

Before he knows it, the sun is dawning bright in the sky, and Amelia is gone, even if her side of the bed is still warm. He finds her in the barn, taking care of the bulls, Cooper fast at her heels. 

“Morning!” she calls as he walks in the door. 

“Good morning. Anything I can help with?” 

“Just about done, actually,” she responds. “I don’t suppose you’re up for making breakfast?”

***

“I should get going,” Bucky says. The breakfast dishes have been washed and put away. “We’re heading to Norway this evening.” It’s hard to even think of leaving, but he doesn’t have a choice, not yet. Staying isn’t an option, not yet. He got a message from Steve while Amelia was still out at the barn. Another mission, wheels up just before sundown. 

“Norway?” 

“HYDRA. Smaller base. Should be an in-and-out.” 

She nods. “Destroy them and get home safely.” 

He nods, and gives her a little half smile. “Always.” He stands, and helps Amelia up from her seat. “I can’t wait to see you again. Can I come out again soon?”

Amelia responds with a laugh. “I hope you do.” 

Bucky leans forward, claiming one more quick, intense and far too short, kiss before shouldering his bag and heading for the door. She walks with him to the quinjet, and then stands safely aside as he takes off. 

He’s planning his next trip to see her before he even reaches altitude.


	39. Happy Birthday, Bucky Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers throw a birthday party for their oldest team mate, and Amelia and Bucky find their own way to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 16 days late. But I made the ending extra special, as an apology and as a thank you for sticking with me this long. We're almost to the end. Two or three chapters, and then a short epilogue. 
> 
> This isn't the start of the perfect ending. Think of it as the calm before the storm. A lot happens in the next chapter or two.
> 
> This chapter goes from sweet team shenanigans to straight-out erotica by the end. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip out when Bucky carries Amelia off to bed after the party. You aren't going to be losing much plot, I promise. 
> 
> This chapter is as smutty as this story is ever going to get. It's been a long time since I've tried writing anything like this, I'm a little terrified to be putting this out there, and it probably won't happen again, at least not any time soon. 
> 
> But, I hope you enjoy it just the same.

_March 10, 2015._

Bucky has had enough lies to last him a dozen lifetimes, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t still employ them if he thinks it might save someone from getting hurt. 

And of late, he’s gotten really good about lying to himself. 

When he wakes up on March 10th, long before dawn and shaking from a poorly timed nightmare, he doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead, he showers, gets changed into something clean, and heads out of the tower. He feels restless in a way he hasn’t in a while. 

Jarvis will tell Steve that he’s out. That he’s fine, but needs some fresh air. This isn’t the first time. 

(If his restlessness gotten worse since Christmas, since spending time in Arkansas, he doesn’t need to admit that.) 

He skips Central Park, turning his bike east towards Long Island. There are a few quiet places, parks that don’t see a lot of use this time of the year. Quiet. Nearly abandoned. His favorite, though, sits right on the water, three miles of coastline that he rarely shares with anyone besides a few early morning joggers, and maybe a homeless person or two (he always carries extra cash on him when he heads out this way, just to make someone else’s day a little easier).

It takes a little less than an hour to get there. He grabs a coffee from a 24-hour convenience store, and sits down on a large rock, only a few feet from the water’s edge, listening to the waves crash in and out. He can see the lights of distant ships, and as dawn begins to break, he stares out at the ocean, the thin blue line of the horizon as far ahead as he can see. 

He was eight when he first saw the ocean. He remembers that. His family, Steve included, drove out to a park not too far from here. It was the middle of summer, hot and humid, and Steve had to spend the hottest part of the day under a tree so he didn’t burn too badly. The beach was crowded, it felt like half the city had come out to enjoy the waves that day, but Bucky hadn’t cared. He spent his day alternating between chasing after Becky in the waves and chatting with Steve under the tree, watching him draw the coastline, along with funny caricatures of the people nearby. As soon as the temperature started to drop, Steve sprawled out in the hot sand, soaking up the sun and heat. Bucky’s dad bought them all snow cones before they left, and they stopped at a hot dog stand for dinner on the way home. 

It was one of his favorite memories of growing up. And being here, staring out over the water, brought some of that back. 

He had other, later, memories of the water that weren’t nearly as pleasant. Five days at sea, traveling to Europe from New York, in 1943. Half the men got sea sick, and the smell made just about everyone else ill, too. Or facing a night on an Italian beach in January of 1944, with bombs falling around him and the rest of his crew, while a storm raged at their backs, sending mountainous waves to land, sweeping more than a few unsuspecting soldiers out into the cold, black depths. 

HYDRA taunting him after Steve’s plane went down over the water. Mocking. Bucky had no idea how much time had passed by then, the paper looked a little worse for the wear so he knew it had been a while. That was the moment he knew that no rescue was coming. He was alone. 

Bucky shakes his head, dispelling the memories, his focus going back to the waves. The sun is starting to rise now, orange and red streaks across the ocean and sky. He pulls out his phone, laughing a bit at himself as he does so, and snaps a picture to send to Amelia, wishing that she was there to share this with him. 

He was going to fly out for the day, that had been the plan, but there was a mission leaving early this evening. No way around it. So they made plans for the middle of next week instead. Which was fine. All things considered, he didn’t feel much like celebrating anyway. 

Tossing his coffee cup into a garbage can along the way, he walks back to his bike and points it towards Manhattan. Traffic is still light, so he’s back by the time Steve is getting back from his workout. Bucky’s cheeks are a still a little red from the wind, but his thoughts are clearer. 

“Breakfast?” Steve asks, as he walks in the door. There’s already a half table of food sitting out, waiting for him. Most of his favorites. He smiles gratefully, and grabs two plates, handing Steve the second as he passes by. 

“Good ride?” 

“Went out to the island.” 

Steve nods in understanding. “I’ve heard the sunrise is beautiful out there.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer to bring Steve with him sometime, even though he knows that, if Steve ever asked, he’d gladly take him along. The early morning quiet is something he still wants to keep to himself, at least for a little longer. 

“I thought maybe you’d gone home.” 

_Brooklyn._ Bucky shook his head. “I’ve got enough ghosts rattling around in my head. I don’t need more.” 

Steve’s smile is a bit sympathetic. Bucky rolls his eyes and kicks him (lightly) under the table. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.” 

****

He straps into his gear, and then glances at himself in the mirror. Ninety-eight years old today. Not too bad, really. Even if he feels a hundred years older than that some days, he still doesn’t have any gray hair, and only the slightest bit of wrinkles, mostly around his eyes. 

Laugh lines. Or ones made when his face was scrunched up, screaming in pain. He tries not to dwell on it. Steve is already up at the helipad, doing last minute prep. The others will be joining them upstairs. He takes one last glance at the mirror, and starts towards the elevator. 

Amelia called earlier, wishing him a happy birthday, and making plans for the weekend. They talked for nearly an hour, before Steve called him away to go over the mission parameters. Suspected terrorists, hiding out in an abandoned military base. Normally a bit below their radar, except that these guys had tech that they shouldn’t have been able to get ahold of. 

The elevator stops, and he takes one final moment to prepare himself before the mission. 

And then the door opens and Steve is standing there, wearing a pair of pants and a button-down shirt. Not his tactical uniform. Bucky blinks, Steve grins, and then Bucky lets his gaze drift behind his friend, taking in the balloons and streamers, the rest of the Avengers and friends. The huge cake. A pile of gifts. A shouted “Surprise!”. 

He swallows hard, heart beating a bit too fast in his chest. It’s not anxiety--not this time. The emotion feels big and almost overpowering, and it makes tears sting behind his eyelids. 

“Happy birthday, Bucky.” 

He turns, and Amelia is there beside him. “What--?” 

“It’s a surprise party, pal.” Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. “You gonna be alright?” 

His gaze sweeps around the room again, and then he reaches out for Amelia’s hand and gives Steve his best disapproving look. 

“The mission was a fake?” 

Steve just grins again. 

“I spent half of the afternoon preparing!” But even as he says it, he feels his lips twitch up. 

“If he’s going to complain, can we skip to the part where we get cake?” Clint asks. Nat elbows him in the side. 

Bucky turns to Amelia. “You drove in for this?” 

“The train was faster,” she shrugs. “and I wasn’t going to miss your birthday. But I didn’t want you to miss out on celebrating with the team, either.” Amelia smiles. “When Steve mentioned throwing a surprise party, well…” 

He tugs her hand, pulling her close for a hug and a quick kiss. Everyone cheers, and she blushes a pretty pink, and he thinks that maybe he does, too. 

“You knew about this?” he asks quietly. 

“For the past month. We were all hoping that there wouldn’t be an actual mission to mess things up.” 

“How long are you here?” 

“Only until tomorrow afternoon. I have to get back by Monday.”

Only twenty-four hours. A little less. He slips his hand over hers, determined to make the most of it.

There’s food. Lots of it. And as the team sits down to eat, he feels the knot that’s been sitting in his chest all day start to loosen. There’s laughter, and stories, and lots of good-natured jokes about his age, and Amelia at his side. The cake comes later, and Steve nearly sets a curtain on fire while trying to light all ninety-eight candles. Clint stands nearby with a fire extinguisher and a ridiculous grin. 

Everyone sings, and he closes his eyes and makes a wish, harder than he’s ever wished for anything in his life, and then he opens his eyes back up and it only takes three tries to get the candles out. 

Except a good quarter of them relight on their own, and Natasha and Clint are both bent over laughing. 

Ninety-eight years, he thinks, a few minutes later. He’s standing with his back against the wall, watching his friends talk and laugh amongst themselves. Amelia sits nearby, smiling up at him as she gestures for him to join her. 

Ninety-eight years. 

He thinks back to his family, all long gone now. His friends in Brooklyn, not counting Steve. The rest of the Commandos.

Howard.

Everyone he knew before, all gone. So many years of suffering and torture at the hands of HYDRA. So much loss and pain. 

But after all of that, to wind up here, with Steve. With new friends. A new team. And Amelia. 

And the losses still hurt. They always will. But, for once, he feels a little grateful, too. Because without it, he would have never found what he has now. And he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

***

It’s half-past one in the morning, and Steve, Bucky, Sam, Amelia, and Clint are still sitting around the couches. Sam, Steve, and Clint are carrying on about some political mess or another. Bucky is half-listening, but really, he just doesn’t see governments the same way as he used to. 

Amelia is sitting with her head against his shoulder, sound asleep. She lasted longer than Bucky thought she would. He shifts his arm a bit, moving her into a slightly more comfortable position. He should wake her or carry her to bed, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment. 

Steve catches his eye, and gives him a knowing smile. “You should get her off to bed.” 

“In a minute. I can’t thank you enough for all of this, Steve. Really. I--” 

“It wasn’t all me. Everyone pitched in to plan it. I didn’t even do that much, outside of menu choices.” 

“Not just the party. All of it. For not giving up on me, even when I know it would have been the smarter thing to do.”

Clint snorts, and stands up. “If you guys are going to get sappy, I’m going to bed.” 

“‘Til the end of the line, pal. Always,” Steve tells him. 

“I’m proud of both of you,” Sam states. “You guys are fantastic. After everything this past year, and everything before that, for you both to be sitting here, with some degree of normalcy,” he nods towards Amelia, “it’s amazing. You should be proud of yourselves. Very proud.” 

“I think he’s drunk,” Bucky says, trying not to laugh.

Sam glares at him, and then shrugs. “I might be a little drunk. Doesn’t change the sentiment.” 

“Alright, I’m getting him safely to his room. I’ll see you in the morning alright?” 

Bucky nods, and watches them go. It’s just him and Amelia now, and as much as he hates to move her, they’ll both be more comfortable in a bed. He adjusts his grip, and then stands, easily carrying her as he makes his way to the elevator. Jarvis opens the door to Amelia’s room before he can get there, and Bucky softly kicks it shut before walking through the livingroom and down the hall to the bedroom. She doesn't stir until he lays her in the bed. She turns towards him, fingers tangling in his. “Are you staying?” she asked, sleepily. 

“Yeah. Just let me get changed.” 

She mumbles softly, but lets go. He changes, thankful that he still has a few changes of clothes in her dresser, and then gets back in beside her, wearing a soft t-shirt and pajama pants. She is reaching for him before he even settles onto the pillows. She’s warm and sleep-soft, and stays awake just long enough to rest her head on his chest before falling back to sleep. 

He put his arms around her, and it doesn’t take long for him to follow her into slumber. 

***

He wakes with the sun, and with Amelia laying beside him, already awake and drawing tiny circles along his back. He smiles, pressing his face into her shoulder. 

“Morning,” she says, starting to draw her hand back. 

He gives a little whine, and she chuckles, going back to running her fingers along the soft material of his shirt. 

“Feels good,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmmhhm.” He nuzzles his nose against her neck. She takes a shuddering breath, and, encouraged, he presses a light kiss against the sensitive skin there, breathing her in. Her fingers slip low on his back, and then tease under the edges of his shirt, just barely brushing skin. 

It’s such an innocent touch, but as her soft fingers and short nails trail along that sensitive area, he can’t help the little shiver that goes through him. She pauses, looking up at him, and he shakes his head. “Don’t stop. Please.” 

She pushes up, brushing her lips across the stubble on his chin in a gentle kiss, and then resumes her exploration. 

***

Amelia is still in the space between sleep and wakefulness when Bucky tightens his arm around her. The sun is just starting to peek in from the windows, and even though she knows she hasn’t slept long, she feels well-rested. 

Her head is resting on his shoulder still, and he’s turned towards her, holding her like he’ll never have to let go. 

It’s quiet moments like this that she misses the most. Waking up feeling safe and cherished. The quiet of the early morning, shared with the man she loves. Knowing that, once they are both awake, they’ll make breakfast together, lounging in pajamas. Steve will likely wander in at some point, coffee cup in hand, hair damp from his shower. 

Bucky stirs, and a thick strand of hair falls over his face. Smiling softly, she reaches out, soothing it back into place. Her fingers linger in his hair, and he nuzzles closer to her, still not awake but enjoying the touch. She moves her touch down, brushing along his back, starting to trace her fingers along his shirt as he rests. 

The look in his eyes when he walked into the party yesterday, like he couldn’t believe anyone would go through that much effort for him, like he wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about, was heartbreaking. But the way his eyes lit up after a moment, and the way he looked at her when she walked over… Her lips tilt up at the memory. 

He wakes soon after, smiling against her skin. Nuzzling along the line of her neck, as he encourages her to touch, to explore. The skin of his back is warm and smooth, and she can feel the muscles bunch and release as he moves, gathering her closer, strong arms holding her so gently. 

Her hand slips a little higher, the material of his shirt bunching around her wrist. The fingers of her other hand settle against his barely-exposed stomach, just above his hip, grazing lightly over the sensitive area. 

Bucky’s lips move up her neck and along her jaw, languorously making their way to her mouth. He nips at her lower lip, and she trails her nails along his skin in response. He chuckles, and then kisses her, first softly, and then quickly going deeper, his lips becoming more demanding, tongue gliding against hers. He shifts, positioning himself above her, and she can feel the heat radiating from him, only inches away. He props himself up on one arm as the other drifts down, thumb brushing over her breast as he goes, before gripping her hip, lifting her slightly. She can feel the hard length of him brush against her, and hears his muffled curse at the touch. 

Emboldened, she tugs at his shirt until he breaks the kiss, pushing up to remove it. Amelia watches the way his muscles move, the way his hair falls in a messy tumble around his face, eyes darkened with desire. He pauses a moment, staring down at her, and she thinks that she has never seen anyone so beautiful. 

She reaches out, taking his hand and pulling him back down to her. She runs her hands along his chest, and then trails a soft line of kisses along his collarbone. She tastes the salt and spice of his skin on her lips, and experimentally runs her tongue along the hollow of his throat. 

_“Jesus,_ Amelia.” 

He puts a hand under her, and guides her back up before taking a hold of her shirt. “Can I?” 

She nods, and he leans over her, lips finding the place just above the v of her button-up sleep shirt. He undoes the first button, and then the second, mouth working over the newly-exposed skin. He peels the material back from her breasts, callused hands brushing lightly over the thin, lacey material of her bra, his breath stuttering as the nipples harden under his touch. 

When his lips find the first hardened peak, she helplessly arches up against him. He presses back down against her, holding her in place as he moves to the other side. 

***

Her bra is light purple, with lace, and a tiny little bow where the two sides met in the middle. So soft and innocent. Nothing he ever thought to have. Her eyes are dark, her breath alternating between deep sighs and short pants, depending on where and he’s touching her. 

When he settled his mouth over her breast, when she pressed herself up against him just so, he struggled to not press forward, nestling his erection in her waiting heat. Even through their clothes, it would have felt like heaven, being _that_ close to her. To do what he’s been dreaming about. 

Instead he grits his teeth, and pins her back down with his thigh, careful to not hurt her, but needing the distance if he even has a chance of lasting. 

Trembling fingers undo the next button, and he leaves her breasts be, pressing heated kisses across her ribs, as the final button falls away, he sits up, looking down at her, panting and wanting and flushed, and it’s all because of him. 

She’s looking up at him like he’s the most important thing in the world, the most desirable, and it affects him in ways he never dared to imagine. 

“Bucky?” 

He shakes his head, and gives her a shaky smile. “I don’t deserve this.” 

An emotion he couldn’t identify moves across her face, and then she’s sitting up, pushing him down in turn, until she was sitting with one leg on either side of his hips, tantalizing heat barely an inch away from where he needed it to be. 

“Maybe you should let me decide what you do and do not deserve,” she tells him. And then she proceeds to touch and taste and tease, and he’s never felt anything like this before. She works her way from his navel to his chin, taking time to lavish attention on nearly every inch, learning what places made him tense and which made him shiver when she dragged her nails across them. 

She reaches his mouth, claiming him. One hand reaches down, taking his, and bringing it back to her breast. “Touch me,” she whispers. The soft command hits at something down deep, heat settling and threatening to overwhelm him. But he does as she asks. She whimpers into his mouth at the contact.

One of her hands ventures to the waistband of his pants, the tips of her fingers brushing along the skin just below the material. He nearly purrs, head tilting back into the pillows, eyes fluttering closed, encouraging her to continue. She smirks against his lips, fingers dipping lower until she nearly touches him. 

And he’s torn between arching up, pressing himself into her hand, desperate for her touch, and taking back control, giving her everything she needs first. 

He moves swiftly, rolling them both until she’s lying beneath him again, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“My turn,” he promises. He reaches for her pants, and she freezes. “Doll?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just..” Just the first time he’d really be seeing the scarring along her legs. The first time, the glance of them the day after Christmas, when she’d fallen and her skirt went up around her knees.

He nods, understanding. “Please?” 

Hesitantly, she nods. He meets her eyes, holding her gaze as he removes the pants. And then, finally, he looks down. The first thing he notices is that her undies match the bra. Soft purple, lace, and a tiny bow at the very center. He looks back up, and she shrugs, blushing. “I wanted to be prepared.” 

He laughs, and she smiles up at him, a little unsure, but more brave than scared. 

Bucky looks down again, eyes taking in the damage done to her legs. And… it’s bad. White hot anger floods him, that so much darkness had touched her, leaving it’s marks along her skin, but then he sees the way she holds herself so carefully, eyes wet as she waits for rejection, and he forces the anger away. 

“You’re beautiful. So beautiful. Every inch of you.” His touch is reverant as he traces the scars. “These tell me how strong you are. How brave. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Anyone who ever looked at you and didn’t see that, they didn’t deserve you. You’re perfect, Amelia. You’re perfect, and you’re mine. Always.” 

A tear slips from her eyes, but she’s smiling a little, too, as she looks up at him. He lifts one leg, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, his thumb finding the same spot on her opposite knee, moving with tiny touches as he places kisses up along the inside of her thigh. The higher he gets, the more she tenses. As he passes her mid-thigh, his hand moves forward, thumb brushing over the sensitive nub between her legs. She cries out, and he does it again, this time with a little more pressure. 

Amelia’s hands curl into his hair, pulling him up level with her again, tugging him in for a kiss. He slips his fingers into her undies, feeling her hot and waiting for him. She arches again, this time pressing right against him, whether intentionally or not, he doesn’t care. The woman was going to be the death of him, either way. 

Especially when she slips her hand down between their bodies, and hesitantly takes him in hand, thumb moving over his tip. Even with the material of his pants between them, he was so sensitive that his breath stuttered and he swore his heart skipped a beat.

“Doll… I don’t know if--” 

His finger brushes against a sensitive spot, and she jumps, lifting off the bed, her hand tightening around him at the same time. He curses and stills, trying to regain control. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and he’s lost. Trying to remember baseball stats; wasn’t that what he used to do, back in the day? 

Long legs wrap around his hips, and _jesus._ He slips a finger inside of her, and then a second, all while keeping up the steady movement with his thumb, feeling her tighten around him as she grew closer to the edge. Until, finally, she’s going over, ripples of pleasure moving through her body, face flushed, mouth open on a choked cry. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

She slips her thumb between the buttons of his pants, swirling it over the slit and around, and he removes his hand from her pants; with as close as their bodies are pressed, it feels like his hand is mostly in the way now. So instead, he grasps her rear instead, holding her up as she fits her body against him. 

It’s too soon to go all the way with it. But the soft press of her, combined with the deft movement of her thumb, has him so close. He stutters her name, a plea, a prayer. And then he’s coming, hips jerking as he releases. She holds him through it, peppering kisses along his skin with her spare arm wrapped around his shoulders. Spent, he rolls to his side, taking her with him, holding her as his heart rate returns to normal and his flushed skin cools. 

“I love you,” she whispers. 

“I love you, too,” he returns. “You’re amazing. And I think we waited way too long for that.” 

She laughs. “I don’t know. It was pretty perfect, just as it was.” 

His stomach growls, interrupting his response, and she laughs again. 

“Shower, and then breakfast?”

She nods. “You go first. I’ll get the coffee going.” 

***

They’re both out of the shower and getting ready to eat when Steve walks in, just like clockwork. Bucky pulls down an extra plate, and sets it out. The rest of the day is full of private looks and stolen touches, before he walks with her to the train station, waiting with her until she boards. 

She presses her hand against the window, and he holds his up in return. Then the train pulls away, leaving him standing there with a growing sense of emptiness. 

Something had to change. He couldn’t keep watching her leave like this.


End file.
